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American,  Indian/ 
Fai**y  Tales 


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uVl  6 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/americanindianfaOOIarn 


jAjrcier  icart  Indian? 
Fairy  Tales  <> 

Retold  VW.TXarnedv 
Illustrated  hy 

JoKrtRjae 


If ~s        *  K 


'    '  ■'!       ] 


'*     4L> 


"PtikKstved  arvd  copyrighted,  lay 

P.  F. Vol!  and  Company 
•New^brk'  Ckicago  -Tororuto  • 


Copyright  1921 
P.  F.  Volland  Company         x?: 
Chicago,  U.  S.  A. 
(All  rights  reserved.) 

Imperial  and  International 

Copyrights  Secured. 

All  Rights  Reserved  For  All  Countries. 

Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


Twenty-ninth  Edition 


With  one  exception,  all  the  tales  in  this  book 
are  adapted  from  the  legends  collected  by  Henry 
R.  Schoolcraft,  ethnologist  and  government  agent 
for  the  Lake  Superior  country,  and  published  in 
1839  with  the  title,  "Algic  Researches." 


A   To  jLou.n.jS  America,    a 


From. 
Tke  Oldest 


1 


&K 


'*.' 


\'i 


;. 


KZ 


J*~ 


Coyote,,  the  Prairie  Wol£ 


«4E 


oo,  the  Stoiy-teller 


THERE  never  was  anyone  so  wise  and  knowing 
as  old  Iagoo.  There  never  was  an  Indian  who 
saw  and  heard  so  much.  He  knew  the  secrets 
of  the  woods  and  fields,  and  understood  the 
language  of  birds  and  beasts.  All  his  life  long  he  had  lived 
out  of  doors,  wandering  far  in  the  forest  where  the  wild  deer 
hide,  or  skimming  the  waters  of  the  lake  in  his  birch-bark 
canoe. 

Besides  the  things  he  had  learned  for  himself,  Iagoo  knew 
much  more.  He  knew  the  fairy  tales  and  the  wonder  stories 
told  him  by  his  grandfather,  who  had  heard  them  from  his 
grandfather,  and  so  on,  away  back  to  the  time  when  the 
world  was  young  and  strange,  and  there  was  magic  in  almost 
everything. 

Iagoo  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  children.  No  one 
knew  better  where  to  find  the  beautiful,  colored  shells  which 
he  strung  into  necklaces  for  the  little  girls.  No  one  could 
teach  them  so  well  just  where  to  look  for  the  grasses  which 
their  nimble  fingers  wove  into  baskets.  For  the  boys  he 
made  bows  and  arrows — bows  from  the  ash-tree,  that  would 
bend  far  back  without  breaking,  and  arrows,  strong  and 
straight,  from  the  sturdy  oak. 

But  most  of  all,  Iagoo  won  the  children's  hearts  with  his 
stories.  Where  did  the  robin  get  his  red  breast?  How  did 
fire  find  its  way  into  the  wood,  so  that  an  Indian  can  get  it 
out  again  by  rubbing  two  sticks  together?  Why  was  Coyote, 
the  prairie  wolf,  so  much  cleverer  than  the  other  animals; 
and  why  was  he  always  looking  behind  him  when  he  ran? 
It  was  old  Iagoo  who  could  tell  you  where  and  why. 


& 


kiriericaiillnciianlrairy, 

Now,  winter  was  the  time  for  story-telling.  When  the 
snow  lay  deep  on  the  ground,  the  North.  Wind  came  howling 
from  his  home  in  the  Land  of  Ice,  and  the  cold  moon  shone 
from  the  frosty  sky,  it  was  then  that  the  Indians  gathered 
in  the  wigwam.  It  was  then  that  Iagoo  sat  by  the  fire  of 
blazing  logs,  and  the  little  boys  and  girls  gathered  around 
him. 

"Whoo,  whoo!"  wailed  the  North  Wind.  The  sparks 
leapt  up,  and  Iagoo  laid  another  log  on  the  fire.  "Whoo, 
whoo!"  What  a  mischievous  old  fellow  was  this  North  Wind! 
One  could  almost  see  him — his  flowing  hair  all  hung  with 
icicles.  If  the  wigwam  were  not  so  strong  he  would  blow  it 
down,  and  if  the  fire  were  not  so  bright  he  would  put  it  out. 
But  the  wigwam  was  made  on  purpose,  for  just  such  a  time 
as  this;  and  the  forest  nearby  had  logs  to  last  forever.  So 
the  North  Wind  could  only  gnash  his  teeth,  and  say,  "Whoo, 
whoo!" 

One  little  girl,  more  timid  than  the  rest,  would  draw 
nearer  and  put  her  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm.  "O,  Iagoo," 
she  said,  "Just  listen!  Do  you  think  he  can  hurt  us?" 

"Have  no  fear,"  answered  Iagoo.  "The  North  Wind  can 
do  no  harm  to  anyone  who  is  brave  and  cheerful.  He  blusters, 
and  makes  a  lot  of  noise;  but  at  heart  he  is  really  a  big  coward, 
and  the  fire  will  soon  frighten  him  away.  Suppose  I  tell  you 
a  story  about  it." 

And  the  story  Iagoo  told  we  shall  now  tell  to  you,  the  story 
of  how  Shin-ge-bis  fooled  the  North  Wind. 


:srTnnlgJ^=> 


Hh  if* 

A,      he; 


po  won  the  children's 
hearts  with  his  stories. 


* 


/      \ 


\ 


Shin -^e-Kf!  fools 
thelNbrttvWInd 


IONG,  long  ago,  in  the  time  when  only  a  few  people 
lived  upon  the  earth,  there  dwelt  in  the  North  a 
tribe  of  fishermen.  Now,  the  best  fish  were  to  be 
■■^  found  in  the  summer  season,  far  up  in  the  frozen  places 
where  no  one  could  live  in  the  winter  at  all.  For  the  King 
of  this  Land  of  Ice  was  a  fierce  old  man  called  Ka-bib-on- 
okkabythelndians — meaning  in  our  language,  the  NorthWind. 

Though  the  Land  of  Ice  stretched  across  the  top  of  the 
world  for  thousands  and  thousands  of  miles,  Ka-bib-on-okka 
was  not  satisfied.  If  he  could  have  had  his  way  there  would 
have  been  no  grass  or  green  trees  anywhere;  all  the  world 
would  have  been  white  from  one  year's  end  to  another,  all 
the  rivers  frozen  tight,  and  all  the  country  covered  with  snow 
and  ice. 

Luckily  there  was  a  limit  to  his  power.  Strong  and  fierce 
as  he  was,  he  was  no  match  at  all  for  Sha-won-dasee,  the  South 
Wind,  whose  home  was  in  the  pleasant  land  of  the  sun- 
flower. Where  Sha-won-dasee  dwelt  it  was  always  summer. 
When  he  breathed  upon  the  land,  violets  appeared  in  the 
woods,  the  wild  rose  bloomed  on  the  yellow  prairie,  and  the 
cooing  dove  called  musically  to  his  mate.  It  was  he  who 
caused  the  melons  to  grow,  and  the  purple  grapes;  it  was  he 
whose  warm  breath  ripened  the  corn  in  the  fields,  clothed  the 
forests  in  green,  and  made  the  earth  all  glad  and  beautiful. 
Then,  as  the  summer  days  grew  shorter  in  the  North,  Sha- 
won-dasee  would  climb  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  fill  his  great  pipe, 
and  sit  there — dreaming  and  smoking.     Hour  after  hour  he 


ffc  Hr  =Aliiericanllri(iianlRLiryj 

sat  and  smoked;  and  the  smoke,  rising  in  the  form  of  a  vapor, 
filled  the  air  with  a  soft  haze  until  the  hills  and  lakes  seemed 
like  the  hills  and  lakes  of  dreamland.  Not  a  breath  of  wind, 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky;  a  great  peace  and  stillness  over  all. 
Nowhere  else  in  the  world  was  there  anything  so  wonderful. 
It  was  Indian  Summer. 

Now  it  was  that  the  fishermen  who  set  their  nets  in  the 
North  worked  hard  and  fast,  knowing  the  time  was  at  hand 
when  the  South  Wind  would  fall  asleep,  and  fierce  old  Ka- 
bib-on-okka  would  swoop  down  upon  them  and  drive  them 
away.  Sure  enough!  One  morning  a  thin  film  of  ice  covered 
the  water  where  they  set  their  nets;  a  heavy  frost  sparkled 
in  the  sun  on  the  bark  roof  of  their  huts. 

That  was  sufficient  warning.  The  ice  grew  thicker,  the 
snow  fell  in  big,  feathery  flakes.  Coyote,  the  prairie  wolf, 
trotted  by  in  his  shaggy  white  winter  coat.  Already  they 
could  hear  a  muttering  and  a  moaning  in  the  distance. 

"Ka-bib-on-okka  is  coming!"  cried  the  fishermen.  "Ka- 
bib-on-okka  will  soon  be  here.     It  is  time  for  us  to  go." 

But  Shin-ge-bis,  the  diver,  only  laughed. 

Shin-ge-bis  was  always  laughing.  He  laughed  when  he 
caught  a  big  fish,  and  he  laughed  when  he  caught  none  at  all. 
Nothing  could  dampen  his  spirits. 

"The  fishing  is  still  good,"  he  said  to  his. Comrades.  "I 
can  cut  a  hole  in  the  ice,  and  fish  with  a  line  instead  of  a  net. 
What  do  /  care  for  old  Ka-bib-on-okka?" 

They  looked  at  him  with  amazement.  It  was  true  that 
Shin-ge-bis  had  certain  magic  powers,  and  could  change  him- 
self into  a  duck.  They  had  seen  him  do  it;  and  that  is  why 
he  came  to  be  called  the  "diver."  But  how  would  this  enable 
him  to  brave  the  anger  of  the  terrible  North  Wind? 

"You  had  better  come  with  us,"  they  said.  "Ka-bib-on- 
okka  is  much  stronger  than  you.  The  biggest  trees  of  the 
forest  bend  before  his  wrath.      The  swiftest  river  that  runs 


anen<^nllridianlFair3rlEle^  *W  "af 

freezes  at  his  touch.     Unless  you  can   turn  yourself  into  a 
bear,  or  a  fish,  you  will  have  no  chance  at  all." 

But  Shin-ge-bis  only  laughed  the  louder. 

"My  fur  coat  lent  me  by  Brother  Beaver  and  my  mittens 
borrowed  from  Cousin  Muskrat  will  protect  me  in  the  day- 
time," he  said,  "and  inside  my  wigwam  is  a  pile  of  big  logs. 
Let  Ka-bib-on-okka  come  in  by  my  fire  if  he  dares." 

So  the  fishermen  took  their  leave  rather  sadly;  for  the 
laughing  Shin-ge-bis  was  a  favorite  with  them,  and,  the  truth 
is,  they  never  expected  to  see  him  again. 

When  they  were  gone,  Shin-ge-bis  set  about  his  work  in 
his  own  way.  First  of  all  he  made  sure  that  he  had  plenty  of 
dry  bark  and  twigs  and  pine-needles,  to  make  the  fire  blaze 
up  when  he  returned  to  his  wigwam  in  the  evening.  The 
snow  by  this  time  was  pretty  deep,  but  it  froze  so  hard  on 
top  that  the  sun  did  not  melt  it,  and  he  could  walk  on  the 
surface  without  sinking  in  at  all.  As  for  fish,  he  well  knew 
how  to  catch  them  through  the  holes  he  made  in  the  ice; 
and  at  night  he  would  go  tramping  home,  trailing  a  long  string 
of  them  behind  him,  and  singing  a  song  he  had  made  up 
himself: 

"Ka-bib-on-okka,  ancient  man, 
Come  and  scare  me  if  you  can. 
Big  and  blustery  though  you  be, 
You  are  mortal  just  like  me!" 

It  was  thus  that  Ka-bib-on-okka  found  him,  plodding 
along  late  one  afternoon  across  the  snow. 

"Whoo,  whoo!"  cried  the  North  Wind.  "What  impudent, 
two-legged  creature  is  this  who  dares  to  linger  here  long  after 
the  wild  goose  and  the  heron  have  winged  their  way  to  the 
south?  We  shall  see  who  is  master  in  the  Land  of  Ice. 
This  very  night  I  will  force  my  way  into  his  wigwam,  put  his 
fire  out,  and  scatter  the- ashes  all  around.     Whoo,  whoo!" 


onencani 

Night  came;  Shin-ge-bis  sat  in  his  wigwam  by  the  blazing 
fire.  And  such  a  fire!  Each  backlog  was  so  big  it  would  last 
for  a  moon.  That  was  the  way  the  Indians,  who  had  no  clocks 
or  watches,  counted  time;  instead  of  weeks  or  months,  they 
would  say  "a  moon" — the  length  of  time  from  one  new  moon 
to  another. 

Shin-ge-bis  had  been  cooking  a  fish,  a  fine,  fresh  fish 
caught  that  very  day.  Broiled  over  the  coals,  it  was  a  tender 
and  savory  dish;  and  Shin-ge-bis  smacked  his  lips,  and  rubbed 
his  hands  with  pleasure.  He  had  tramped  many  miles  that 
day;  so  it  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  sit  there  by  the  roaring 
fire  and  toast  his  shins.  How  foolish,  he  thought,  his  com- 
rades had  been  to  leave  a  place  where  fish  was  so  plentiful, 
so  early  in  the  winter. 

"They  think  that  Ka-bib-on-okka  is  a  kind  of  magician," 
he  was  saying  to  himself,  "and  that  no  one  can  resist  him. 
It's  my  own  opinion  that  he's  a  man,  just  like  myself.  It's 
true  that  I  can't  stand  the  cold  as  he  does;  but  then,  neither 
can  he  stand  the  heat  as  I  do." 

This  thought  amused  him  so  that  he  began  to  laugh  and 
sing: 

" Ka-bib-on-okka, frosty  man, 
Try  to  freeze  me  if  you  can. 
Though  you  blow  until  you  tire, 
I  am  safe  beside  my  fire!" 

He  was  in  such  a  high  good  humor  that  he  scarcely  noticed 
a  sudden  uproar  that  began  without.  The  snow  came  thick 
and  fast;  as  it  fell  it  was  caught  up  again  like  so  much  powder 
and  blown  against  the  wigwam,  where  it  lay  in  huge  drifts. 
But  instead  of  making  it  colder  inside,  it  was  really  like  a 
thick  blanket  that  kept  the  air  out. 

Ka-bib-on-okka  soon  discovered  his  mistake,  and  it  made 
him  furious.     Down  the  smoke-vent  he  shouted;  and  his  voice 


oneneani 

was  so  wild  and  terrible  that  it  might  have  frightened  an 
ordinary  man.  But  Shin-ge-bis  only  laughed.  It  was  so 
quiet  in  that  great,  silent  country  that  he  rather  enjoyed  a 
little  noise. 

"Ho,  ho!"  he  shouted  back.  "How  are  you,  Ka-bib-on- 
okka?     If  you  are  not  careful  you  will  burst  your  cheeks." 

Then  the  wigwam  shook  with  the  force  of  the  blast,  and 
the  curtain  of  buffalo  hide  that  formed  the  doorway  flapped 
and  rattled,  and  rattled  and  flapped. 

"Come  on  in,  Ka-bib-on-okka!"  called  Shin-ge-bis  merrily. 
"Come  on  in  and  warm  yourself.  It  must  be  bitter  cold 
outside." 

At  these  jeering  words,  Ka-bib-on-okka  hurled  himself 
against  the  curtain,  breaking  one  of  the  buckskin  thongs; 
and  made  his  way  inside.  Oh,  what  an  icy  breath! — so  icy 
that  it  filled  the  hot  wigwam  like  a  fog. 

Shin-ge-bis  pretended  not  to  notice.  Still  singing,  he  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  threw  on  another  log.  It  was  a  fat  log  of 
pine,  and  it  burned  so  hard  and  gave  out  so  much  heat  that 
he  had  to  sit  a  little  distance  away.  From  the  corner  of  his 
eye  he  watched  Ka-bib-on-okka;  and  what  he  saw  made  him 
laugh  again.  The  perspiration  was  pouring  from  his 
forehead;  the  snow  and  icicles  in  his  flowing  hair  quickly 
disappeared.  Just  as  a  snowman  made  by  children  melts  in 
the  warm  sun  of  March,  so  the  fierce  old  North  Wind  began 
to  thaw!  ■  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it;  Ka-bib-on-okka,  the 
terrible,  was  melting!  His  nose  and  ears  became  smaller,  his 
body  began  to  shrink.  If  he  remained  where  he  was  much 
longer,  the  King  of  the  Land  of  Ice  would  be  nothing  better 
than  a  puddle. 

"Come  on  up  to  the  fire,"  said  Shin-ge-bis  cruelly.  "You 
must  be  chilled  to  the  bone.  Come  up  closer,  and  warm 
your  hands  and  feet." 


Tke  North.  Wind  was 
a  fierce  old  man. 


onencaiu 

But  the  North  Wind  had  fled,  even  faster  than  he  came, 
through  the  doorway. 

Once  outside,  the  cold  air  revived  him,  and  all  his  anger 
returned.  As  he  had  not  been  able  to  freeze  Shin-ge-bis,  he 
spent  his  rage  on  everything  in  his  path.  Under  his  tread 
the  snow  took  on  a  crust;  the  brittle  branches  of  the  trees 
snapped  as  he  blew  and  snorted;  the  prowling  fox  hurried  to 
his  hole;  and  the  wandering  coyote  sought  the  first  shelter 
at  hand. 

Once  more  he  made  his  way  to  the  wigwam  of  Shin-ge-bis, 
and  shouted  down  the  flue.  "Come  out,"  he  called.  "Come 
out,  if  you  dare,  and  wrestle  with  me  here  in  the  snow.  We'll 
soon  see  who's  master  then!" 

Shin-ge-bis  thought  it  over.  "The  fire  must  have  weak- 
ened him,"  he  said  to  himself.  "And  my  own  body  is  warm. 
I  believe  I  can  overpower  him.  Then  he  will  not  annoy  me 
any  more,  and  I  can  stay  here  as  long  as  I  please." 

Out  of  the  wigwam  he  rushed,  and  Ka-bib-on-okka  came 
to  meet  him.  Then  a  great  struggle  took  place.  Over  and 
over  on  the  hard  snow  they  rolled,  locked  in  one  another's 
arms. 

All  night  long  they  wrestled;  and  the  foxes  crept  out  of 
their  holes,  sitting  at  a  safe  distance  in  a  circle,  watching  the 
wrestlers.  The  effort  he  put  forth  kept  the  blood  warm  in  the 
body  of  Shin-ge-bis.  He  could  feel  the  North  Wind  growing 
weaker  and  weaker;  his  icy  breath  was  no  longer  a  blast,  but 
only  a  feeble  sigh. 

At  last,  as  the  sun  rose  in  the  east,  the  wrestlers  stood 
apart,  panting.  Ka-bib-on-okka  was  conquered.  With  a 
despairing  wail,  he  turned  and  sped  away.  Far,  far  to  the 
North  he  sped,  even  to  the  land  of  the  White  Rabbit;  and  as 
he  went,  the  laughter  of  Shin-ge-bis  rang  out  and  followed 
him.  Cheerfulness  and  courage  can  overcome  even  the 
North  Wind. 


The  littlelBqy  and 
rirl  in  the  Clouds 


N|  yAGOO,  the  Story-Teller,  was  seated  one  evening  in 
his  favorite  corner,  gazing  into  the  embers  of  the  log 
fire  like  one  in  a  dream. 

At  such  a  time  the  children  knew  better  than  to  in- 
terrupt him  by  asking  questions  or  teasing  him  for  a  story. 
They  knew  that  Iagoo  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  the 
strange  things  he  had  heard  and  the  wonderful  things  he 
had  seen;  that  the  burning  logs  and  red  coals  took  on  cur- 
ious shapes  and  made  odd  pictures  that  only  he  could 
understand,  and  that  if  they  did  not  disturb  him  he  would 
presently  begin  to  speak. 

On  this  particular  evening,  however,  though  they  waited 
patiently  and  talked  to  one  another  only  in  low  whispers, 
Iagoo  kept  on  sitting  there  as  if  he  were  made  of  stone.  They 
began  to  fear  that  he  had  forgotten  them,  and  that  bed- 
time would  come  without  a  story.  So  at  last  little  Morning 
Glory,  who  was  always  asking  questions,  thought  of  one  she 
had  never  asked  before. 

"Iagoo!"  she  said;  and  then  she  stopped,  fearing  to  offend 
him. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  the  old  man  roused  himself,  as 
if  his  mind  had  been  away  on  a  long  journey  into  the  past. 

"What  is  it,  Morning  Glory?" 

"Iagoo — can  you  tell  me — were  the  mountains  always 
here?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  gravely.  No  matter  how  hard 
the  question  was,  or  how  unexpected,  Iagoo  was  always  glad 
to  answer.  He  never  said:  "I'm  too  busy,  don't  bother  me," 
or,  "Wait  till  some  other  time."     So  when  Morning  Glory 


l&WM        '      ILj- 


anlfairyj 

asked  him  this  very  peculiar  question,  he  nodded  his  wise  old 
head,  saying: 

"Do  you  know,  I've  often  asked  myself  that  very  thing: 
Were  the  mountains  always  here?" 

He  paused,  and  looked  once  more  into  the  fire,  as  if  the 
answer  was  to  be  found  there  if  he  only  looked  long  enough. 
At  last  he  spoke  again: 

"Yes,  I  think  it  must  be  true  that  the  mountains  were 
always  here — the  mountains  and  the  hills.  They  were  made 
when  the  world  was  made — a  long,  long  time  ago;  and  the 
story  of  how  the  world  was  made  you  have  heard  before. 
But  there  is  one  high  hill  that  was  not  always  here — a  hill 
that  grew  like  magic,  all  of  a  sudden.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  the 
story  of  the  Big  Rock — how  it  rose  and  rose,  and  carried  the 
little  boy  and  girl  up  among  the  clouds?" 

"No,  no!"  shouted  the  children  in  a  chorus.  "You  never 
told  us  that  one.     Tell  it  to  us  now." 

And  this  is  the  story  of  the  magical  Big  Rock,  as  old  Iagoo 
heard  it  from  his  grandfather,  who  heard  it  from  his  great- 
grandfather, who  was  almost  old  enough  to  have  been  there 
himself  when  it  all  happened: 

In  the  days  when  all  animals  and  men  lived  on  friendly 
terms,  when  Coyote,  the  prairie  wolf,  was  not  a  bad  sort  of 
fellow  when  you  came  to  know  him,  and  even  the  Mountain 
Lion  would  growl  pleasantly  and  pass  you  the  time  of  day — 
there  lived  in  a  beautiful  valley  a  little  boy  and  girl. 

This  valley  was  a  lovely  place  to  live  in;  never  was  such  a 
playground  anywhere  on  earth.  It  was  like  a  great  green 
carpet  stretching  for  miles  and  miles,  and  when  the  wind  blew 
upon  the  long  grass  it  was  like  looking  at  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
Flowers  of  all  colors  bloomed  in  the  beautiful  valley,  berries 
grew  thick  on  the  bushes,  and  birds  filled  the  summer  air 
with  their  songs. 

Best  of  all,   there  was  nothing  whatever  to   fear.     The 


E;    Never  was  such  a  play- 
ground anywhere. 


kmencanlmcuanlFairyiiaLeg  W  "Af 

children  could  wander  at  will — watching  the  gay  butterflies, 
making  friends  with  the  squirrels  and  rabbits,  or  following 
the  flight  of  the  bee  to  some  tree  where  his  honey  is  stored. 

As  for  the  wild  animals,  it  was  all  very  different  from  what 
it  is  to-day,  when  they  keep  the  poor  things  in  cages,  or  coop 
them  up  in  a  little  patch  of  ground  behind  a  high  fence.  In 
the  beautiful  valley  the  animals  ran  free  and  happily,  as  they 
were  meant  to  do.  The  Bear  was  a  big,  lazy,  good-natured 
fellow,  who  lived  on  berries  and  wild  honey  in  the  summer, 
and  in  winter  crept  into  his  cavern  in  the  rocks  and  slept 
there  till  the  spring.  The  deer  were  not  only  gentle,  but  tame 
as  sheep,  and  often  came  to  crop  the  tender  grass  that  grew 
where  the  two  children  were  accustomed  to  play. 

They  loved  all  the  animals,  and  the  animals  loved  them; 
but  perhaps  their  special  favorites  were  Jack  Rabbit  and 
Antelope.  Jack  Rabbit  had  long  legs,  and  long  ears — almost 
as  long  as  a  mule's,  and  no  animal  of  his  size  could  jump  so 
high.  But  of  course  he  could  not  jump  as  high  as  Antelope — 
the  name  of  a  beautiful  little  deer,  with  short  horns  and  slender 
legs,  who  could  run  like  the  wind. 

Another  thing  that  made  the  happy  valley  such  a  pleasant 
place  to  live  in  was  the  river  that  flowed  through  it.  All  the 
animals  came  from  miles  around  to  drink  from  its  clear,  cool 
waters,  and  to  bathe  in  it  on  a  hot  summer  day.  One  shallow 
pool  seemed  made  especially  for  the  little  boy  and  girl.  Their 
friend,  the  Beaver,  with  his  flat  tail  like  an  oar  and  his  feet 
webbed  like  a  duck's,  had  taught  them  how  to  swim  almost 
as  soon  as  they  had  learned  to  walk;  and  to  splash  around  in 
the  pool  on  a  warm  afternoon  was  among  their  greatest 
pleasures. 

One  day  in  mid-summer  the  water  was  so  pleasant  that 
they  remained  in  the  pool  much  longer  than  usual,  so  that  when 
at  last  they  came  out  they  were  quite  tired.     And  as  they  were 


di 


kmencaiillnciianirairy 

a  little  chilled  besides,  they  looked  around  for  a  good  place 
where  they  could  get  dry  and  warm  . 

"Let's  climb  up  on  that  big,  flat  rock,  with  the  moss  on 
it,"  said  the  little  boy.  "We've  never  done  it  before.  It 
would  be  lots  of  fun." 

So  he  clambered  up  the  side  of  the  rock,  which  was  only  a 
few  feet  high,  and  drew  his  sister  up  after  him.  Then  they 
lay  down  to  rest,  and  pretty  soon,  without  intending  it  at  all, 
they  were  fast  asleep. 

Nobody  knows  how  it  happened  that  exactly  at  this  time 
the  rock  began  to  rise  and  grow.  But  it  did  happen,  because 
there  it  is  today,  high  and  bare  and  steep,  higher  than  the  other 
hills  in  the  valley.  As  the  children  slept,  it  rose  and  rose, 
inch  by  inch,  foot  by  foot;  by  the  next  day  it  was  taller  than 
the  tallest  trees. 

Meanwhile  their  father  and  mother  were  searching  for 
them  everywhere,  but  all  in  vain;  nor  was  any  trace  of  them 
to  be  found.  No  one  had  seen  them  climb  up  on  the  rock, 
and  everyone  concerned  was  too  much  excited  to  notice  what 
had  really  happened  to  it.  The  parents  wandered  far  and  wide 
saying:  "Antelope,  have  you  seen  our  little  boy  and  girl? 
Jack  Rabbit,  you  must  have  seen  our  little  boy  and  girl." 
But  none  of  the  animals  had  seen  them. 

At  last  they  met  Coyote,  the  cleverest  of  them  all,  trotting 
along  the  valley  with  his  nose  in  the  air;  so  they  put  the  same 
question  to  him. 

"No,"  said  Coyote.  "I  have  not  seen  them  for  a  long  time. 
But  my  nose  was  given  me  to  smell  with,  and  my  brains  were 
given  me  to  think  with.  So  who  can  tell  but  that  I  may  help 
your 

He  trotted  by  their  side,  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  and 
pretty  soon  they  came  to  the  pool  where  the  children  had  been 
in  swimming.  Coyote  sniffed  and  sniffed.  He  ran  around  and 
around,  with  his  nose  to  the  ground;  then  he  ran  right  up  to 


ft"  Hf  J^Tnencaiilln<iianlFair3rjGljeg^P="Af 

the  rock,  put  his  forepaws  up  as  high  as  he  could  reach,  and 
sniffed  again. 

"H-m-m!"  he  grunted.  "I  cannot  fly  like  the  Eagle, 
and  I  cannot  swim  like  the  Beaver.  But  neither  am  I  stupid 
like  the  Bear,  nor  ignorant  like  the  Jack  Rabbit.  My  nose 
has  never  deceived  me  yet;  your  little  boy  and  girl  must  be 
up  there  on  that  rock." 

"But  how  could  they  get  there?"  asked  the  astonished 
parents.  For  the  rock  was  now  so  high  that  the  top  was  lost 
to  sight  in  the  clouds. 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  said  Coyote  severely,  unwilling 
to  admit  there  was  anything  he  did  not  know.  "That  is  not 
the  question  at  all.  Anybody  could  ask  that.  The  only 
question  worth  asking  is:     How  are  we  to  get  them  down 

again: 

So  they  called  all  the  animals  together,  to  talk  it  over  and 
see  what  could  be  done.  Then  the  Bear  said:  "If  I  could 
only  put  my  arms  around  the  rock  I  could  climb  it.  But  it 
is  much  too  big  for  that."  And  the  Fox  said:  "If  it  were  only 
a  deep  hole,  instead  of  a  high  hill,  I  would  be  able  to  help  you." 
And  the  Beaver  said:  "If  it  were  just  a  place  out  in  the  water 
I  could  swim  to,  I'd  show  you  very  quickly." 

But  as  this  kind  of  talk  did  not  take  them  very  far,  they 
decided  to  try  what  jumping  would  do.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  other  way;  and  as  each  one  was  anxious  to  do  his  part,  the 
smallest  one  was  permitted  to  make  the  first  attempt.  So  the 
Mouse  made  a  funny  little  hop,  about  as  high  as  your  hand. 
The  Squirrel  went  a  little  higher.  Jack  Rabbit  made  the  high- 
est jump  of  his  life,  and  almost  broke  his  back,  to  no  purpose. 
Antelope  gave  a  great  bound  in  the  air,  but  managed  to  light 
on  his  feet  again  without  doing  himself  any  harm.  Finally, 
the  Mountain  Lion  went  a  long  way  off,  to  get  a  good  start, 
ran  toward  the  rock  with  great  leaps,  sprang  straight  up — and 


oneneaiii 

fell  and  rolled  over  on  his  back.  He  had  made  a  higher  jump 
than  any  of  them;  but  it  was  not  nearly  high  enough. 

No  one  knew  what  to  do  next.  It  seemed  as  if  the  little 
boy  and  girl  must  be  left  sleeping  on  forever,  up  among  the 
clouds.     Suddenly  they  heard  a  tiny  voice  saying: 

"Perhaps  if  you  let  me  try,  I  might  climb  up  the  rock." 

They  all  looked  around  in  surprise,  wondering  who  it  was 
that  spoke;  and  at  first  they  could  see  nobody,  and  thought 
that  Coyote  must  be  playing  a  trick  on  them.  But  Coyote 
was  as  much  surprised  as  anyone. 

"Wait  a  minute.  I'm  coming  as  fast  as  I  can,"  said  the 
tiny  voice  again.  Then  a  Measuring  Worm  crawled  out  of 
the  grass — a  funny  little  worm  that  made  its  way  along  by 
hunching  up  its  back  and  drawing  itself  ahead  an  inch  at  a 
time. 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  the  Mountain  Lion,  from  deep  down  in  his 
throat.  He  always  spoke  that  way  when  his  dignity  was 
offended.  "Ho,  ho!  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  impudence? 
If  I,  a  lion,  have  failed,  how  can  a  miserable  little  crawling 
worm  like  you  hope  to  succeed;  just  tell  me  that!" 

"It's  downright  silly,"  said  Jack  Rabbit.  "That's  what  it 
is.     I  never  heard  of  such  conceit." 

However,  after  much  talk,  they  agreed  at  last  that  it 
could  do  no  harm  to  let  him  try.  So  the  Measuring  Worm  made 
his  way  slowly  to  the  rock,  and  began  to  climb.  In  a  few  min- 
utes he  was  higher  than  Jack  Rabbit  had  jumped.  Soon  he 
was  farther  up  than  the  lion  had  been  able  to  leap:  before  long 
he  had  climbed  out  of  sight. 

It  took  the  Measuring  Worm  a  whole  month,  climbing  day 
and  night,  to  reach  the  top  of  the  magic  rock.  When  he  got 
there  he  awakened  the  little  boy  and  girl,  who  were  much  sur- 
prised to  see  where  they  were,  and  guided  them  safely  down 
along  a  path  no  one  else  knew  anything  about.  Thus,  by 
patience  and  perseverance,  the  weak  little  creature  was  able  to 


kttieriean  i 


ji 


anlrairyj 


do  something  that  the  Bear,  for  all  his  size,  and  the  Lion, 
for  all  his  strength,  could  never  have  done  at  all.  That  was  a 
long  time  ago;  today  there  are  no  more  lions  or  bears  in  the 
valley,  and  no  one  ever  thinks  of  them.  But  everybody 
thinks  of  the  Measuring  Worm,  because  the  Big  Rock  is  still 
there,  and  the  Indians  have  named  it  after  him.  Tu-tok-a-nu-la, 
they  call  it,  a  big  name  indeed  for  a  little  fellow,  yet  by 
no  means  too  big  when  you  come  to  think  of  the  big,  brave 
thins;  he  did. 


===•) 


The  Child  of  theEvetvingtStar 


K 


^NCE  upon  a  time,  on  the  shores  of  the  great  lake, 
Gitchee  Gumee,  there  lived  a  hunter  who  had 
ten  beautiful  young  daughters.  Their  hair  was 
dark  and  glossy  as  the  wings  of  the  blackbird,  and 
when  they  walked  or  ran  it  was  with  the  grace  and  freedom 
of  the  deer  in  the  forest. 

Thus  it  was  that  many  suitors  came  to  court  them — brave 
and  handsome  young  men,  straight  as  arrows,  fleet  of  foot, 
who  could  travel  from  sun  to  sun  without  fatigue.  They  were 
sons  of  the  prairie,  wonderful  horsemen  who  would  ride  at 
breakneck  speed  without  saddle  or  stirrup.  They  could 
catch  a  wild  horse  with  a  noose,  tame  him  in  a  magical  way 
by  breathing  into  his  nostrils,  then  mount  him  and  gallop  off 
as  if  he  always  had  been  ridden.  There  were  those  also  who 
came  from  afar  in  canoes,  across  the  waters  of  the  Great  Lake, 
canoes  which  shot  swiftly  along,  urged  by  the  strong,  silent 
sweep  of  the  paddle. 

All  of  them  brought  presents  with  which  they  hoped  to 
gain  the  father's  favor.  Feathers  from  the  wings  of  the  eagle 
who  soars  high  up  near  the  sun;  furs  of  fox  and  beaver  and  the 
thick,  curly  hair  of  the  bison;  beads  of  many  colors,  and  wam- 
pum, the  shells  which  the  Indians  used  for  money;  the  quills 
of  the  porcupine  and  the  claws  of  the  grizzly  bear;  deerskin 
dressed  to  such  a  softness  that  it  crumpled  up  in  the  hands — 
these  and  many  other  things  they  brought. 

One  by  one,  the  daughters  were  wooed  and  married,  until 
nine  of  them  had  chosen  husbands.  One  by  one,  other  tents 
were  reared,  so  that  instead  of  the  single  family  lodge  on  the 


shores  of  the  lake  there  were  tents  enough  to  form  a  little 
village.  For  the  country  was  a  rich  one,  and  there  was  game 
and  fish  enough  for  all. 

There  remained  the  youngest  daughter,  Oweenee — the 
fairest  of  them  all.  Gentle  as  she  was  beautiful,  none  was  so 
kind  of  heart.  Unlike  her  proud  and  talkative  elder  sisters, 
Oweenee  was  shy  and  modest,  and  spoke  but  little.  She  loved 
to  wander  alone  in  the  woods,  with  no  company  but  the  birds 
and  squirrels  and  her  own  thoughts.  What  these  thoughts 
were  we  can  only  guess;  from  her  dreamy  eyes  and  sweet  ex- 
pression, one  could  but  suppose  that  nothing  selfish  or  mean  or 
hateful  ever  came  into  her  mind.  Yet  Oweenee,  modest 
though  she  was,  had  a  spirit  of  her  own.  More  than  one  suitor 
had  found  this  out.  More  than  one  conceited  young  man, 
confident  that  he  could  win  her,  went  away  crestfallen  when 
Oweenee  began  to  laugh  at  him. 

The  truth  is,  Oweenee  seemed  hard  to  please.  Suitor  after 
suitor  came — handsome,  tall  young  men,  the  handsomest  and 
the  bravest  in  all  the  country  round.  Yet  this  fawn-eyed 
maiden  would  have  none  of  them.  One  was  too  tall,  another 
too  short;  one  too  thin,  another  too  fat.  At  least,  that  was 
the  excuse  she  gave  for  sending  them  away.  Her  proud 
sisters  had  little  patience  with  her.  It  seemed  to  be  question- 
ing their  own  taste;  for  Oweenee,  had  she  said  the  word,  might 
have  gained  a  husband  more  attractive  than  any  of  theirs. 
Yet  no  one  was  good  enough.  They  could  not  understand  her; 
so  they  ended  by  despising  her  as  a  silly  and  unreasonable  girl. 

Her  father,  too,  who  loved  her  dearly  and  wished  her  to 
be  happy,  was  much  puzzled.  "Tell  me,  my  daughter,"  he 
said  to  her  one  day,  "Is  it  your  wish  never  to  marry?  The 
handsomest  young  men  in  the  land  have  sought  you  in 
marriage,  and  you  have  sent  them  all  away — often  with  a 
poor  excuse.     Why  is  it?" 

Oweenee  looked  at  him  with  her  large,  dark  eyes. 


She  loved  to  wander 
alone  in  the  woods* 


... 


minericaiiMridianirairyJlaLeg  W  Ifr 

"Father,"  she  said  at  last.  "It  is  not  that  I  am  wilful. 
But  it  seems  somehow  as  if  I  had  the  power  to  look  into  the 
hearts  of  men.  It  is  the  heart  of  a  man,  and  not  his  face,  that 
really  matters;  and  I  have  not  yet  found  one  youth  who  in 
this  sense  is  really  beautiful." 

Soon  after,  a  strange  thing  happened.  There  came  into 
the  little  village  an  Indian  named  Osseo,  many  years  older 
than  Oweenee.  He  was  poor  and  ugly,  too.  Yet  Oweenee 
married  hirn. 

How  the  tongues  of  her  nine  proud  sisters  did  wag!  Had 
the  spoiled  little  thing  lost  her  mind?  they  asked.  Oh,  well! 
They  always  knew  she  would  ccme  to  a  bad  end;  but  it  was 
pretty  hard  on  the  family. 

Of  course  they  could  not  know  what  Oweenee  had  seen  at 
once — that  Osseo  had  a  generous  nature  and  a  heart  of  gold; 
that  beneath  his  outward  ugliness  was  the  beauty  of  a  noble 
mind,  and  the  fire  and  passion  of  a  poet.  That  is  why  Oweenee 
loved  him;  knowing,  too,  that  he  needed  her  care,  she  loved 
him  all  the  more. 

Now,  though  Oweenee  did  not  suspect  it,  Osseo  was 
really  a  beautiful  youth  on  whom  an  evil  spell  had  been  cast. 
He  was  in  truth  the  son  of  the  King  of  the  Evening  Star — that 
Evening  Star  which  shines  so  gloriously  in  the  western  sky, 
just  above  the  rim  of  the  earth,  as  the  sun  is  setting.  Often  on 
a  clear  evening  it  hung  suspended  in  the  purple  twilight  like 
some  glittering  jewel.  So  close  it  seemed,  and  so  friendly,  that 
the  little  children  would  reach  out  their  hands,  thinking  that 
they  might  grasp  it  ere  it  was  swallowed  by  the  night, 
and  keep  it  always  for  their  own.  But  the  older  ones 
would  say:  "Surely  it  must  be  a  bead  on  the  garments  of 
the  Great  Spirit  as  he  walks  in  the  evening  through  the  gar- 
den of  the  heavens." 

Little  did  they  know  that  the  poor,  despised  Osseo  had 
really  descended  from  that  star.    And  when  he,  too,  stretched 


ctianiE airyjfaleg  *W  4> 


anencainmcuanirairy 

out  his  arms  toward  it,  and  murmured  words  they  could  not 
understand,  they  all  made  sport  of  him. 

There  came  a  time  when  a  great  feast  was  prepared  in  a 
neighboring  village,  and  all  of  Oweenee's  kinsfolk  were  invited 
to  attend.  They  set  out  on  foot — the  nine  proud  sisters, 
with  their  husbands,  walking  ahead,  much  pleased  with  them- 
selves and  their  finery,  and  all  chattering  like  magpies.  But 
Oweenee  walked  behind  in  silence,  and  with  her  walked 
Osseo. 

The  sun  had  set;  in  the  purple  twilight,  over  the  edge  of 
the  earth,  sparkled  the  Evening  Star.  Osseo,  pausing, 
stretched  out  his  hands  toward  it,  as  if  imploring  pity;  but 
when  the  others  saw  him  in  this  attitude  they  all  made  merry, 
laughing  and  joking  and  making  unkind  remarks. 

"Instead  of  looking  up  in  the  sky,"  said  one  of  the  sisters, 
"he  had  better  be  looking  on  the  ground.  Else  he  may 
stumble  and  break  his  neck."  Then  calling  back  to  him,  she 
cried:  "Look  out!  Here's  a  big  log.  Do  you  think  you  can 
manage  to  climb  over  it?" 

Osseo  made  no  answer;  but  when  he  came  to  the  log  he 
paused  again.  It  was  the  trunk  of  a  huge  oak-tree  blown  down 
by  the  wind.  There  it  had  lain  for  years,  just  as  it  fell;  and 
the  leaves  of  many  summers  lay  thick  upon  it.  There  was  one 
thing,  though,  the  sisters  had  not  noticed..  The  tree-trunk 
was  not  a  solid  one,  but  hollow,  and  so  big  around  that  a  man 
could  walk  inside  it  from  one  end  to  the  other  without  stooping. 

But  Osseo  did  not  pause  because  he  was  unable  to  climb 
over  it.  There  was  something  mysterious  and  magical  in  the 
appearance  of  the  great  hollow  trunk;  and  he  gazed  at  it  a  long 
time,  as  if  he  had  seen  it  in  a  dream,  and  had  been  looking  lor  it 
ever  since. 

"What  is  it,  Osseo?"  asked  Oweenee,  touching  him  on  the 
arm.    "Do  you  see  something  that  I  cannot  see?" 

But  Osseo  only  gave  a  shout   that  echoed   through   the 


m^  UF  =Ainen<^iillniianlFair3rlELeg  *9F'$> 

forest,  and  leaped  inside  the  log.  Then  as  Oweenee,  a  little 
alarmed,  stood  there  waiting,  the  figure  of  a  man  came  out 
from  the  other  end.  Could  this  be  Osseo?  Yes,  it  was  he — 
but  how  transformed!  No  longer  bent  and  ugly,  no  longer 
weak  and  ailing;  but  a  beautiful  youth — vigorous  and  straight 
and  tall.    His  enchantment  was  at  an  end. 

But  the  evil  spell  had  not  been  wholly  lifted,  after  all. 
As  Osseo  approached  he  saw  that  a  great  change  was  taking 
place  in  his  loved  one.  Her  glossy  black  hair  was  turning 
white,  deep  wrinkles  lined  her  face;  she  walked  with  a  feeble 
step,  leaning  on  a  staff.  Though  he  had  regained  his  youth 
and  beauty,  she  in  turn  had  suddenly  grown  old. 

"O,  my  dearest  one!"  he  cried.  "The  Evening  Star  has 
mocked  me  in  letting  this  misfortune  come  upon  you.  Better 
far  had  I  remained  as  I  was;  gladly  would  I  have  borne  the 
insults  and  laughter  of  your  people  rather  than  you  should 
be  made  to  suffer." 

"As  long  as  you  love  me,"  answered  Oweenee,  "I  am 
perfectly  content.  If  I  had  the  choice  to  make,  and  only  one 
of  us  could  be  young  and  fair,  it  is  you  that  I  would  wish  to  be 
beautiful." 

Then  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  caressed  her,  vowing  that 
he  loved  her  more  than  ever  for  her  goodness  of  heart;  and 
together  they  walked  hand  in  hand,  as  lovers  do. 

When  the  proud  sisters  saw  what  had  happened  they  could 
scarcely  believe  their  eyes.  They  looked  enviously  at  Osseo, 
who  was  now  far  handsomer  than  any  one  of  their  husbands, 
and  much  their  superior  in  every  other  way.  In  his  eyes  was 
the  wonderful  light  of  the  Evening  Star,  and  when  he  spoke 
all  men  turned  to  listen  and  admire  him.  But  the  hard-hearted 
sisters  had  no  pity  for  Oweenee.  Indeed,  it  rather  pleased  them 
to  see  that  she  could  no  longer  dim  their  beauty,  and  to 
realize  that  people  would  no  longer  be  singing  her  praises  in 
their  jealous  ears. 


miiaencaiilaiclianlFairylEleg TprT  ^S 

The  feast  was  spread,  and  all  made  merry  but  Osseo.  He 
sat  like  one  in  a  dream,  neither  eating  nor  drinking.  From 
time  to  time  he  would  press  Oweenee's  hand,  and  speak  a  word 
of  comfort  in  her  ear.  But  for  the  most  part  he  sat  there, 
gazing  through  the  door  of  the  tent  at  the  star-besprinkled 
sky. 

Soon  a  silence  fell  on  all  the  company.  From  out  of  the 
night,  from  the  dark,  mysterious  forest,  came  the  sound  of 
music — a  low,  sweet  music  that  was  like,  yet  unlike,  the  song 
sung  by  the  thrush  in  summer  twilight.  It  was  magical  music 
such  as  none  had  ever  heard,  coming,  as  it  seemed,  from  a 
great  distance,  and  rising  and  falling  on  the  quiet  summer 
evening.  All  those  at  the  feast  wondered  as  they  listened. 
And  well  they  might!  For  what  to  them  was  only  music,  was 
to  Osseo  a  voice  that  he  understood,  a  voice  from  the  sky 
itself,  the  voice  of  the  Evening  Star.  These  were  the  words 
that  he  heard: 

"Suffer  no  more,  my  son;  for  the  evil  spell  is  broken,  and 
hereafter  no  magician  shall  work  you  harm.  Suffer  no  more; 
for  the  time  has  come  when  you  shall  leave  the  earth  and 
dwell  here  with  me  in  the  heavens.  Before  you  is  a  dish  on 
which  my  light  has  fallen,  blessing  it  and  giving  it  a  magic 
virtue.    Eat  of  this  dish,  Osseo,  and  all  will  be  well." 

So  Osseo  tasted  the  food  before  him,  and  behold!  The  tent 
began  to  tremble,  and  rose  slowly  into  the  air;  up,  up  above 
the  tree-tops — up,  up  toward  the  stars.  As  it  rose,  the  things 
within  it  were  wondrously  changed.  The  kettles  of  clay  be- 
came bowls  of  silver,  the  wooden  dishes  were  scarlet  shells, 
while  the  bark  of  the  roof  and  the  poles  supporting  it  were 
transformed  into  some  glittering  substance  that  sparkled  in 
the  rays  of  the  stars.  Higher  and  higher  it  rose.  Then  the 
nine  proud  sisters  and  their  husbands  were  all  changed  into 
birds.  The  men  became  robins,  thrushes  and  woodpeckers. 
The  sisters  were  changed  into  various  birds  with  bright  plum- 


fmmericanllrwllanif EuryliaLeg  *m  ^> 

age;  the  four  who  had  chattered  most,  whose  tongues  were 
always  wagging,  now  appeared  in  the  feathers  of  the  magpie 
and  bluejay. 

Osseo  sat  gazing  at  Oweenee.  Would  she,  too,  change  into 
a  bird,  and  be  lost  to  him  ?  The  very  thought  of  it  made  him 
bow  his  head  with  grief;  then,  as  he  looked  at  her  once  more, 
he  saw  her  beauty  suddenly  restored,  while  the  color  of  her 
garments  was  the  color  only  to  be  found  where  the  dyes  of  the 
rainbow  are  made. 

Again  the  tent  swayed  and  trembled  as  the  currents  of  the 
air  bore  it  higher  and  higher,  into  and  above  the  clouds;  up, 
up,  up — till  at  last  it  settled  gently  on  the  land  of  the  Evening 
Star. 

Osseo  and  Oweenee  caught  all  the  birds,  and  put  them  in  a 
great  silver  cage,  where  they  seemed  quite  content  in  each 
other's  company.  Scarcely  was  this  done  when  Osseo's  father, 
the  King  of  the  Evening  Star,  came  to  greet  them.  He  was 
attired  in  a  flowing  robe,  spun  from  star-dust,  and  his  long 
white  hair  hung  like  a  cloud  upon  his  shoulders. 

"Welcome,"  he  said,  "my  dear  children.  Welcome  to  the 
kingdom  in  the  sky  that  has  always  awaited  you.  The  trials 
you  have  passed  through  have  been  bitter;  but  you  have 
borne  them  bravely,  and  now  you  will  be  rewarded  for  all 
your  courage  and  devotion.  Here  you  will  live  happily;  yet  of 
one  thing  you  must  beware." 

He  pointed  to  a  little  star  in  the  distance — a  little,  winking 
star,  hidden  from  time  to  time  by  a  cloud  of  vapor. 

"On  that  star,"  he  continued,  "lives  a  magician  named 
Wabeno.  He  has  the  power  to  dart  his  rays,  like  so  many 
arrows,  at  those  he  wishes  to  injure.  He  has  always  been  my 
enemy;  it  was  he  who  changed  Osseo  into  an  old  man  and  cast 
him  down  upon  the  earth.  Have  a  care  that  his  light  does  not 
fall  upon  you.  Luckily,  his  power  for  evil  has  been  greatly 
weakened;  for  the  friendly  clouds  have  come  to  my  assistance, 


ff  Ulf  JikmencaivlmcLianlF eiirylEleg  *W  'a? 

and  form  a  screen  of  vapor  through  which  his  arrows  cannot 
penetrate." 

The  happy  pair  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  kissed  his  hands 
in  gratitude. 

"But  these  birds,"  said  Osseo,  rising  and  pointing  to  the 
cage.     "Is  this  also  the  work  of  Wabeno,  the  magician?" 

"No,"  answered  the  King  of  the  Evening  Star.  "It  was 
my  own  power,  the  power  of  love,  that  caused  your  tent  to 
rise  and  bear  you  hither.  It  was  likewise  by  my  power  that 
the  envious  sisters  and  their  husbands  were  transformed  into 
birds.  Because  they  hated  you  and  mocked  you,  and  were 
cruel  and  scornful  to  the  weak  and  the  old,  I  have  done  this 
thing.  It  is  not  so  great  a  punishment  as  they  deserve.  Here 
in  the  silver  cage  they  will  be  happy  enough,  proud  of  their 
handsome  plumage,  strutting  and  twittering  to  their  hearts' 
content.  Hang  the  cage  there,  at  the  doorway  of  my  dwelling. 
They  shall  be  well  cared  for." 

Thus  it  was  that  Osseo  and  Oweenee  came  to  live  in  the 
kingdom  of  the  Evening  Star;  and,  as  the  years  passed  by, 
the  little  winking  star  where  Wabeno,  the  magician,  lived  grew 
pale  and  paler  and  dim  and  dimmer,  till  it  quite  lost  its  power 
to  harm.  Meanwhile  a  little  son  had  come  to  make  their 
happiness  more  perfect,  a  charming  boy  with  the  dark,  dreamy 
eyes  of  his  mother  and  the  strength  and  courage  of  Osseo. 

It  was  a  wonderful  place  for  a  little  boy  to  live  in — close  to 
the  stars  and  the  moon,  with  the  sky  so  near  that  it  seemed 
a  kind  of  curtain  for  his  bed,  and  all  the  glory  of  the  heavens 
spread  out  before  him.  But  sometimes  he  was  lonely,  and 
wondered  what  the  Earth  was  like — the  Earth  his  father  and 
mother  had  come  from.  He  could  see  it  far,  far  below — 
so  far  that  it  looked  no  bigger  than  an  orange;  and  sometimes 
he  would  stretch  out  his  hands  toward  it,  just  as  the  little 
children  on  earth  stretch  out  their  hands  for  the  moon. 


kisiencanllntiianirairyj 

His  father  had  made  him  a  bow,  with  little  arrows,  and  this 
was  a  great  delight  to  him.  But  still  he  was  lonely,  and 
wondered  what  the  little  boys  and  girls  on  earth  were  doing, 
and  whether  they  would  be  nice  to  play  with.  The  Earth 
must  be  a  pretty  place,  he  thought,  with  so  many  people 
living  on  it.  His  mother  had  told  him  strange  stories  of  that 
far-away  land,  with  its  lovely  lakes  and  rivers,  its  great,  green 
forests  where  the  deer  and  the  squirrel  lived,  and  the  yellow, 
rolling  prairies  swarming  with  buffalo. 

These  birds,  too,  in  the  great  silver  cage  had  come  from  the 
Earth,  he  was  told;  and  there  were  thousands  and  thousands 
just  like  them,  as  well  as  others  even  more  beautiful  that  he 
had  never  seen  at  all.  Swans  with  long,  curved  necks,  that 
floated  gracefully  on  the  waters;  whip-poor-wills  that  called  at 
night  from  the  woods;  the  robin  redbreast,  the  dove  and  the 
swallow.     What  wonderful  birds  they  must  be! 

Sometimes  he  would  sit  near  the  cage,  trying  to  understand 
the  language  of  the  feathered  creatures  inside.  One  day  a 
strange  idea  came  into  his  head.  He  would  open  the  door  of 
the  cage  and  let  them  out.  Then  they  would  fly  back  to 
Earth,  and  perhaps  they  would  take  him  with  them.  When 
his  father  and  mother  missed  him  they  would  be  sure  to  follow 
him  to  the  Earth,  and  then — 

He  could  not  quite  see  just  how  it  would  all  end.  But  he 
found  himself  quite  close  to  the  cage,  and  the  first  thing  he 
knew  he  had  opened  the  door  and  let  out  all  the  birds.  Round 
and  round  they  flew;  and  now  he  was  half  sorry,  and  a  little 
afraid  as  well.  If  the  birds  flew  back  to  Earth,  and  left  him 
there,  what  would  his  grandfather  say? 

"Come  back,  come  back!"  he  called. 

But  the  birds  only  flew  around  him  in  circles,  and  paid  no 
attention  to  him.  At  any  moment  they  might  be  winging  their 
way  to  the  Earth. 


"Come  back,  I  tell  you!"  he  cried,  stamping  his  foot  and 
waving  his  little  bow.     "Come  back,  I  say,  or  I'll  shoot  you." 

Then,  as  they  would  not  obey  him,  he  fitted  an  arrow  to 
his  bow  and  let  it  fly.  So  well  did  he  aim  that  the  arrow  sped 
through  the  plumage  of  a  bird,  and  the  feathers  fell  all  around. 
The  bird  itself,  a  little  stunned  but  not  much  hurt,  fell  down; 
and  a  tiny  trickle  of  blood  stained  the  ground  where  it  lay. 
But  it  was  no  longer  a  bird,  with  an  arrow  in  its  wing;  instead, 
there  stood  in  its  place  a  beautiful  young  woman. 

Now,  no  one  who  lives  in  the  stars  is  ever  permitted  to  shed 
blood,  whether  it  be  of  man,  beast  or  bird.  So  when  the  few 
drops  fell  upon  the  Evening  Star,  everything  was  changed. 
The  boy  suddenly  found  himself  sinking  slowly  downward, 
held  up  by  invisible  hands,  yet  ever  sinking  closer  and  closer  to 
the  Earth.  Soon  he  could  see  its  green  hills  and  the  swans 
floating  on  the  water,  till  at  last  he  rested  on  a  grassy  island 
in  a  great  lake.  Lying  there,  and  looking  up  at  the  sky,  he 
could  see  the  tent  descending,  too.  Down  it  softly  drifted, 
till  it  in  turn  sank  upon  the  island;  and  in  it  were  his  father  and 
mother,  Osseo  and  Oweenee — returned  to  earth,  to  live  once 
more  among  men  and  women  and  teach  them  how  to  live. 
For  they  had  learned  many  things  in  their  life  upon  the 
Evening  Star;  and  the  children  of  Earth  would  be  better  for 
the  knowledge. 

As  they  stood  there,  hand  in  hand,  all  the  enchanted  birds 
came  fluttering  after,  falling  and  fluttering  through  the  air. 
Then  as  each  one  touched  the  Earth,  it  was  no  longer  a  bird 
they  saw,  but  a  human  being.  A  human  being,  yet  not  quite 
as  before;  for  now  they  were  only  dwarfs,  Little  People,  or 
Pygmies;  Puk-Wudjies,  as  the  Indians  called  them.  Happy 
Little  People  they  became,  seen  only  by  a  few.  Fishermen, 
they  say,  would  sometimes  get  a  glimpse  of  them — dancing  in 
the  light  of  the  Evening  Star,  of  a  summer  night,  on  the 
sandy,  level  beach  of  the  Great  Lake. 


The  Boy  who  snared 


the 


U1V 


AA   DEEP,  crusted  snow  covered  the  earth,  and  sparkled 
IX\         in  the  light  of  a  wintry  moon.     The  wind  had 

/  \\  died  away;  it  was  very  cold  and  still.  Not  a 
■^^  -^™*  sound  came  from  the  forest;  the  only  noise  that 
broke  the  perfect  quiet  of  the  night  was  the  cracking  of  the 
ice  on  the  Big-sea-water,  Gitche  Gumee,  which  was  now 
frozen  solid. 

But  inside  old  Iagoo's  teepee  it  was  warm  and  cheerful. 
The  teepee,  as  the  Indians  call  a  tent,  was  covered  with  the 
thick,  tough  skin  of  the  buffalo;  the  winter  coat  of  Muk-wa, 
the  bear,  had  now  become  a  pleasant  soft  rug  for  Iagoo's 
two  young  visitors,  Morning  Glory  and  her  little  brother, 
Eagle  Feather.  Squatting  at  their  ease  on  the  warm  fur, 
they  waited  for  the  old  man  to  speak. 

Suddenly  a  white-footed  mouse  crept  from  his  nest  in  a 
corner,  and,  advancing  close  to  the  children,  sat  up  on  his 
hind-legs,  like  a  dog  that  begs  for  a  biscuit.  Eagle  Feather 
raised  his  hand  in  a  threatening  way,  but  Morning  Glory 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"No,  no!"  she  said.  "You  must  not  harm  him.  See 
how  friendly  he  is,  and  not  a  bit  afraid.  There  is  game  enough 
in  the  forest  for  a  brave  boy's  bow  and  arrow.  Why  should 
he  spend  his  strength  on  a  weak  little  mouse?" 

Eagle  Feather,  pleased  with  anything  that  seemed  like 
praise  of  his  strength,  let  his  hand  fall. 

"Your  words  are  true  words,  Morning  Glory,"  he  answered. 
"Against  Ahmeek,  the  beaver,  or  Wau-be-se,  the  wild  swan, 
it  is  better  that  I  should  measure  my  hunter's  skill." 


^mencaiillruiianlELiryj 

At  this,  Iagoo,  turning  around,  broke  his  long  silence. 

"There  was  a  time,"  he  said,  mysteriously,  "when  a 
thousand  boys  such  as  Eagle  Feather  would  have  been  no 
match  at  all  for  that  mouse  as  he  used  to  be." 

"When  was  that?"  asked  Eagle  Feather,  looking  uneasily 
at  his  sister. 

"In  the  days  of  the  great  Dormouse,"  answered  Iagoo. 
"In  the  days,  long  ago,  when  there  were  many  more  animals 
than  men  on  the  earth,  and  the  biggest  of  all  the  beasts  was 
the  Dormouse.  Then  something  strange  happened — some- 
thing that  never  happened  before  or  since.  Shall  I  tell  you 
about  it?" 

"O,  please  do!"  begged  Morning  Glory. 

"The  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  began  Iagoo,  "is  not 
so  much  a  story  about  the  Dormouse  as  it  is  a  story  about  a 
little  boy  and  his  sister.  Yet  had  it  not  been  for  the  Dor- 
mouse, I  would  not  be  here  to  tell  about  it,  and  you  would 
not  be  here  to  listen. 

"To  begin  with,  you  must  understand  that  the  world  in 
those  days  was  a  different  sort  of  place  from  what  it  is  now. 
O  yes,  a  different  sort  of  place.  People  did  not  eat  the  flesh 
of  animals.  They  lived  on  berries,  and  roots,  and  wild  vege- 
tables. The  Great  Spirit,  who  made  all  things  on  land,  and 
in  the  sky  and  water,  had  not  yet  given  men  Mon-da-min, 
the  Indian  corn.  There  was  no  fire  to  give  them  heat,  or 
to  cook  with.  In  all  the  world  there  was  just  one  small  fire, 
watched  by  two  old  witches  who  let  nobody  come  near  it; 
and  until  Coyote,  the  prairie  wolf,  came  along  and  stole  some 
of  this  fire,  the  food  that  people  could  manage  to  get  was 
eaten  raw,  the  way  it  grew." 

"They  must  have  been  pretty  hungry,"  said  Morning 
Glory. 

"O,  yes,  they  were  hungry,"  agreed  Iagoo.  "But  that 
was  not  all.     There  were  so  many  animals,  and  so  few  men, 


oneneanj 


\Wffi 


that  the  animals  ruled  the  earth  in  their  own  way.  The 
biggest  of  them  all  was  Bosh-kwa-dosh,  the  Mastodon.  He 
was  higher  than  the  highest  trees,  and  he  had  an  enormous 
appetite.  But  he  did  not  stay  long  on  earth,  or  there  would 
not  have  been  food  enough  even  for  the  other  animals." 

"I  thought  you  said  the  Dormouse  was  the  biggest," 
interrupted  Eagle  Feather. 

Iagoo  looked  at  him  severely. 

"At  the  time  I  speak  of,"  he  continued,  ''Bosh-kwa-dosh, 
the  Mastodon,  had  just  gone  away.  He  had  not  gone  a  bit 
too  soon,  either;  for,  by  this  time,  the  only  people  left  on  the 
whole  earth  were  a  young  girl  and  her  little  brother." 

"Like  Eagle  Feather  and  me?"  asked  Morning  Glory. 

"The  girl  was  much  like  you,"  said  Iagoo,  patiently. 
"But  the  boy  was  a  dwarf,  who  never  grew  to  be  more  than 
three  feet  high.  Being  so  much  stronger  and  larger  than  her 
brother,  she  gathered  all  the  food  for  both,  and  cared  for  him 
in  every  way.  Sometimes  she  would  take  him  along  with 
her,  when  she  went  to  look  for  berries  and  roots.  'He's  such 
a  very  little  boy,'  she  said  to  herself,  'that  if  I  leave  him  all 
alone,  some  big  bird  may  swoop  down,  and  carry  him  off 
to  its  nest.' 

"She  did  not  know  what  a  strange  boy  he  was,  and  how 
much  mischief  he  could  do  when  he  set  his  mind  upon  it. 
One  day  she  said  to  him:  'Look,  little  brother!  I  have 
made  you  a  bow  and  some  arrows.  It  is  time  you  learned 
to  take  care  of  yourself;  so  when  I  am  gone,  practice  shoot- 
ing, for  this  is  a  thing  you  must  know  how  to  do.' 

"Winter  was  coming,  and  to  keep  himself  from  freezing 
the  boy  had  nothing  better  than  a  light  garment  woven  by 
his  sister  from  the  wild  grasses.  How  could  he  get  a  warm 
coat?  As  he  asked  himself  that  question,  a  flock  of  snow 
birds  flew  down,  near  by,  and  began  pecking  at  the  fallen 
logs,    to    get    the    worms.     'Ha!'    said    he.     'Their    feathers 


$ 


The  biggest  of  them  all  was 
BosK-kwa-dosK,  the  Mastodon. 


i\ 


Ici  TlF  .^^iiaencanltiiianlfairylCle^  Tip  "Tit 

would  make  me  a  fine  coat.'  Bending  his  bow,  he  let  an 
arrow  fly;  but  he  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  shoot  straight. 
It  went  wide  of  the  mark.  He  shot  a  second,  and  a  third; 
then  the  birds  took  fright,  and  flew  away. 

"Each  day  he  tried  again — shooting  at  a  tree  when  there 
was  nothing  better  to  aim  at.  At  last  he  killed  a  snow  bird, 
then  another  and  another.  When  he  had  shot  ten  birds,  he 
had  enough.  'See,  sister,'  he  said,  'I  shall  not  freeze.  Now 
you  can  make  me  a  coat  from  the  skins  of  these  little  birds.' 

"So  his  sister  sewed  the  skins  together,  and  made  him  the 
coat,  the  first  warm  winter  coat  he  had  ever  had.  It  was 
fine  to  look  at,  and  the  feathers  kept  out  the  cold.  Eh-yah! 
he  was  proud  of  it!  With  his  bow  and  arrows,  he  strutted 
up  and  down,  like  a  little  turkey  cock.  'Is  it  true?'  he  asked, 
'that  you  and  I  are  the  only  persons  living  on  earth?  Per- 
haps if  I  look  around,  I  may  find  someone  else.  It  will  do 
no  harm  to  try.' 

"His  sister  feared  he  would  come  to  some  harm;  but  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  see  the  world  for  himself,  and  off 
he  went.  But  his  legs  were  short,  he  was  not  used  to  walk- 
ing far,  and  he  soon  grew  tired.  When  he  came  to  a  bare 
place,  on  the  edge  of  a  hill,  where  the  sun  had  melted  the 
snow,  he  lay  down,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

"As  he  slept,  the  sun  played  him  a  trick.  It  was  a  mild 
winter's  day.  The  bird  skins  of  which  the  coat  was  made 
were  still  fresh  and  tender,  and  under  the  full  glare  of  the 
sun  they  began  to  shrivel  and  shrink.  'Eh-yah!  What's 
wrong?'  he  muttered  in  his  sleep,  feeling  the  coat  become 
tighter  and  tighter.  Then  he  woke,  stretched  out  his  arms, 
and  saw  what  had  happened. 

"The  sun  was  nearly  sinking  now.  The  boy  stood  up 
and  faced  it,  and  shook  his  small  fist.  'See  what  you  have 
done!'  he  cried,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot.  'You  have  spoiled 
my  new  birdskin   coat.     Never  mind!     You   think  yourself 


dianiFairyJEleS  *W  "A? 


kmencanlinciianlrairy 

beyond  my  reach,  up  there;  but  I'll  be  revenged  on  you. 
Just  wait  and  see!'  " 

"But  how  could  he  reach  the  sun?"  asked  Morning  Glory, 
her  eyes  growing  rounder  and  rounder. 

"That  is  what  his  sister  asked,  when  he  told  her  about 
it,"  said  Iagoo.  "And  what  do  you  think  he  did?  First, 
he  did  nothing  at  all  but  stretch  himself  out  on  the  ground, 
where  he  lay  for  ten  days  without  eating  or  moving.  Then 
he  turned  over  on  the  other  side,  and  lay  there  for  ten  days 
more.  At  last  he  rose  to  his  feet.  'I  have  made  up  my  mind,' 
he  said.  'Sister,  I  have  a  plan  to  catch  the  sun  in  a  noose. 
Find  me  some  kind  of  a  cord  from  which  I  can  make  a  snare.' 

"She  got  some  tough  grass,  and  twisted  it  into  a  rope. 
'That  will  not  do,'  he  said.  'You  must  find  something 
stronger.'  He  no  longer  talked  like  a  little  boy,  but  like  one 
who  was  to  be  obeyed.  Then  his  sister  thought  of  her  hair. 
She  cut  enough  from  her  head  to  make  a  cord,  and  when  she 
had  plaited  it  he  was  much  pleased,  and  said  it  would  do. 
He  took  it  from  her,  and  drew  it  between  his  lips,  and  as  he 
did  this  it  turned  into  a  kind  of  metal,  and  grew  much  stronger 
and  longer,  till  he  had  so  much  that  he  wound  it  around  his 
body. 

"In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  made  his  way  to  the  hill, 
and  there  he  fixed  a  noose  at  the  place  where  the  sun  would 
rise.  He  had  to  wait  a  long  time  in  the  cold  and  darkness. 
But  at  last  a  faint  light  came  into  the  sky.  As  the  sun  rose 
it  was  caught  fast  in  the  noose,  and  there  it  stayed." 

Iagoo  stopped  talking,  and  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  One 
might  have  supposed  that  when  he  did  this  he  saw  pictures 
in  the  flames,  and  in  the  red  coals,  and  that  these  pictures 
helped  him  to  tell  the  story.  But  Morning  Glory  was  im- 
patient to  hear  the  rest. 

"Iagoo,"  she  said,  timidly,  at  last.  "Did  you  forget 
about  the  Dormouse?" 


Jft'  1*F  =^kiiaencaivlin(iianiFairylELeg  1SF  ^af 

"Eh-yah!  the  Dormouse!  No.  I  have  not  forgotten," 
answered  the  old  man,  rousing  himself.  "When  the  sun 
did  not  rise  as  usual,  the  animals  could  not  tell  what  had 
happened.  Ad-ji-dau-mo,  the  squirrel,  chattered  and 
scolded  from  the  branch  of  a  pine  tree.  Kah-gah-gee,  the 
raven,  flapped  his  wings,  and  croaked  more  hoarsely  than 
ever,  to  tell  the  others  that  the  end  of  the  world  had  come. 
Only  Muk-wa,  the  bear,  did  not  mind.  He  had  crept  into 
his  cave  for  the  winter,  and  the  darker  it  was  the  better  he 
liked  it. 

"Wa-bun,  the  East  Wind,  was  the  one  who  brought  the 
news.  He  had  drawn  from  his  quiver  the  silver  arrows  with 
which  he  chased  the  darkness  from  the  valleys.  But  the 
sun  had  not  risen  to  help  him,  and  the  arrows  fell  harmless  to 
the  earth.  'Wake,  wake!'  he  wailed.  'Someone  has  caught 
the  sun  in  a  snare.  Which  of  all  the  animals  will  dare  to 
cut  the  cord?' 

"But  even  Coyote,  the  prairie  wolf,  who  was  the  wisest 
of  them  all,  could  think  of  no  way  to  free  the  sun.  So  great 
was  the  heat  thrown  out  by  its  rays  that  he  could  not  come 
within  an  arrow's  flight  of  where  it  was  caught  fast  in  the 
magical  noose  of  hair. 

"  'Leave  it  to  me!'  screamed  Ken-eu,  the  war-eagle,  from 
his  nest  on  the  cliff.  'It  is  I  alone  who  soar  to  the  sky,  and 
look  the  sun  in  the  face,  without  winking.     Leave  it  tome!' 

"Down  he  darted  through  the  darkness,  and  up  he  flew 
again,  with  his  eagle  feathers  singed.  Then  they  woke  the 
Dormouse.  They  had  a  hard  time  doing  it,  because  when  he 
once  went  to  sleep  he  stayed  asleep  for  six  months,  and  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  arouse  him.  Coyote  crept  close  to  his 
ear,  and  howled  with  all  his  might.  It  would  have  split  the  ear- 
drum of  almost  any  other  animal.  But  Kug-e-been-gwa-kwa, 
the  Dormouse,  only  groaned  and  turned  over  on   the  other 


4a*  ^^==ATnenca2ilmdianlFair5rjEle5 °tF  ^af 

side,    and  Coyote  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being  mashed 
flat,  like  a  corn-cake. 

"  'There  is  only  one  thing  that  will  wake  him,'  said 
Coyote,  getting  up  and  shaking  himself.  T  will  run  to  the 
mountain  cave  of  An-ne-mee-kee,  the  Thunder.  His  voice  is 
even  more  terrible  than  mine.'     So  off  he  went  at  a  gallop. 

"Soon  they  could  hear  An-ne-mee-kee  coming.  Boom, 
boom!  When  he  shouted  in  the  ear  of  the  Dormouse,  the 
biggest  beast  on  earth  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  In  the  dark- 
ness he  looked  bigger  than  ever,  almost  as  big  as  a  mountain. 
An-ne-mee-kee,  the  Thunder,  shouted  once  more,  to  make 
sure  that  the  Dormouse  was  really  wide  awake,  and  would 
not  go  to  sleep  again. 

"  'Now,'  said  Coyote  to  the  Dormouse,  'it  is  you  that  will 
have  to  free  the  sun.  If  he  burned  one  of  us,  there  would  be 
little  left  but  bones.  But  you  are  so  big  that  if  part  of  you  is 
burned  away  there  will  still  be  enough.  Then,  in  that  case  you 
would  not  have  to  eat  so  much,  or  work  so  hard  to  get  it.' 

"The  Dormouse  was  a  stupid  animal,  and  Coyote's  talk 
seemed  true  talk.  Besides,  as  he  was  the  biggest  animal,  he 
was  expected  to  do  the  biggest  things.  So  he  made  his  way 
to  the  hill,  where  the  little  boy  had  snared  the  sun,  and  began 
to  nibble  at  the  noose.  As  he  nibbled  away,  his  back  got 
hotter  and  hotter.  Soon  it  began  to  burn,  till  all  the  upper 
part  of  him  burned  away,  and  became  great  heaps  of  ashes. 
At  last,  when  he  had  cut  through  the  cord  with  his  teeth,  and 
set  the  sun  free,  all  that  was  left  of  him  was  an  animal  no 
larger  than  an  ordinary  mouse.  What  he  became  then,  so 
he  is  today.  Still,  he  is  big  enough  for  a  mouse;  and  perhaps 
that  is  what  Coyote  really  meant.  Coyote,  the  prairie  wolf,  is 
a  cunning  beast,  up  to  many  tricks,  and  it  is  not  always  easy 
to  tell  exactly  what  he  means." 


"^  -f    How  tl>e  Svixrvmer 
-JM^  Came  *  1  *  A 

/X\  ^HT  /jf'ORNING  Glory  was  tired  of  the  winter,  and 

NVtfl         longed  for  the  spring  to  come.     Sometimes  it 

I     \/     I         seemed  as  if  Ka-bib-on-okka,  the  fierce  old 

•^»  ^^-   North  Wind,  would  never  go  back  to  his  home 

in  the  Land  of  Ice.     With  his  cold  breath  he  had  frozen  tight 

and  hard  the  Big-Sea-Water, Gitche  Gumee,  and  covered  it  deep 

with  snow,  till  you  could  not  tell  theGreatLake  from  the  land. 

Except  for  the  beautiful  green  pines,  all  the  world  was  white 
— a  dazzling,  silent  world  in  which  there  was  no  musical 
murmur  of  waters  and  no  song  of  birds. 

"Will  O-pee-chee,  the  robin,  never  come  again?"  sighed 
Morning  Glory.  "Suppose  there  was  no  summer  anywhere, 
and  no  Sha-won-dasee,  the  South  Wind,  to  bring  the  violet 
and  the  dove.     O,  Iagoo,  would  it  not  be  dreadful?" 

"Be  patient,  Morning  Glory,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"Soon  you  will  hear  WTa-wa,  the  wild  goose,  flying  high  up,  on 
his  way  to  the  North.  I  have  lived  many  moons.  Sometimes 
he  seems  long  in  coming,  but  he  always  comes.  When  you 
hear  him  call,  then  O-pee-chee,  the  robin,  will  not  be  far 
behind." 

"I'll  try  to  be  patient"  said  Morning  Glory.  "But 
Ka-bib-on-okka,  the  North  Wind,  is  so  strong  and  fierce. 
I  can't  help  wondering  whether  there  ever  was  a  time  when  his 
power  was  so  great  that  he  made  his  home  here  always.  It 
makes  me  shiver  to  think  of  it!" 

Iagoo  rose  from  his  place  by  the  fire,  and  drew  to  one  side 
the  curtain  of  buffalo-hide  that  screened  the  doorway.  He 
pointed  to  the  sky — clear,  and  sparkling  with  stars. 


Wl  Hr AjmencanifrioU 


anirairyi 

"Look!"  he  said.  "There,  in  the  North.  See  that  little 
cluster  of  stars.     Do  you  know  the  name  we  give  it?" 

"/  know,"  said  Eagle  Feather.  "It  is  O-jeeg  An-nung — 
the  Fisher  stars.  If  you  look  right,  you  can  see  how  they  make 
the  body  of  the  Fisher.  He  is  stretched  out  flat,  with  an  arrow 
through  his  tail.     See,  sister!" 

"The  Fisher,"  repeated  Morning  Glory.  "You  mean  the 
furry  little  animal,  something  like  a  fox?  Is  Marten  another 
name  for  it?" 

"That's  it,"  said  Eagle  Feather. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  nodded  Morning  Glory.  "But  why  is  the 
Fisher  spread  out  flat  that  way,  in  the  sky,  with  an  arrow  stick- 
ing through  his  tail?" 

"I  don't  know  just  exactly  why,"  admitted  Eagle  Feather. 
"I  suppose  some  hunter  was  chasing  him.  Perhaps  Iagoo 
can  tell  us." 

Iagoo  closed  the  curtain,  and  went  back  to  the  fire. 
"You  thought  there  might  have  been  a  time  when  there 
was  no  summer  on  the  earth,"  he  said  to  Morning  Glory. 
"And  you  were  right.  Until  O-jeeg,  the  Fisher,  found  a  way 
to  bring  the  summer  down  from  the  sky,  the  earth  was  every- 
where covered  with  snow,  and  it  was  always  cold.  If  O-jeeg 
had  not  been  willing  to  give  his  life,  so  that  all  the  rest  of  us 
could  be  warm,  Ka-bib-on-okka,  the  North  Wind,  would  have 
ruled  the  world,  as  he  now  rules  the  Land  of  Ice." 

Then  Morning  Glory  and  Eagle  Feather  sat  down  on  the 
soft  rug  that  was  once  the  winter  coat  of  Muk-wa,  the  bear, 
and  Iagoo  told  them  the  story  of  How  the  Summer  Came: 

In  the  wild  forest  that  borders  the  Great  Lake  there  once 
lived  a  mighty  hunter  named  O-jeeg.  No  one  knew  the  woods 
so  well  as  he;  where  others  would  be  lost  without  a  trail  to 
guide  them,  he  found  his  way  easily  and  quickly,  by  day  or 
night,  through  the  trackless  tangle  of  trees  and  underbrush. 
Where  the  red  deer  fled,  he  followed;  the  bear  could  not  escape 


onencaiij 


iLe3"W^ 


his  swift  pursuit.  He  had  the  cunning  of  the  fox,  the  endur- 
ance of  the  wolf,  the  speed  of  the  wild  turkey  when  it  runs  at 
the  scent  of  danger. 

When  O-jeeg  shot  an  arrow,  it  always  hit  the  mark.  When 
he  set  out  on  a  journey,  no  storm  or  snow  could  turn  him  back. 
He  did  everything  he  said  he  would  do,  and  did  it  well. 

Thus  it  was  that  some  men  came  to  believe  that  O-jeeg 
was  a  Manito —  the  Indian  name  for  one  who  has  magic  powers. 
This  much  was  certain:  whenever  O-jeeg  wished  to  do  so,  he 
could  change  himself  into  the  little  animal  known  as  the  Fisher, 
or  Marten. 

Perhaps  that  is  why  he  was  on  such  friendly  terms  with 
some  of  the  animals,  who  were  always  willing  to  help  him  when 
he  called  upon  them.  Among  these  were  the  otter,  the  beaver, 
the  lynx,  the  badger  and  the  wolverine.  There  came  a  time, 
as  we  shall  see,  when  he  needed  their  services  badly,  and  they 
were  not  slow  in  coming  to  his  assistance. 

O-jeeg  had  a  wife  whom  he  dearly  loved,  and  a  son,  of 
thirteen  years,  who  promised  to  be  as  great  a  hunter  as  his 
father.  Already  he  had  shown  great  skill  with  the  bow  and 
arrow;  if  some  accident  should  prevent  O-jeeg  from  supplying 
the  family  with  the  game  upon  which  they  lived,  his  son  felt 
sure  that  he  himself  could  shoot  as  many  squirrels  and  turkeys 
as  they  needed  to  keep  them  from  starving.  With  O-jeeg  to 
bring  them  venison,  bear's  meat  and  wild  turkey,  they  had 
thus  far  plenty  to  eat.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  cold,  the  boy 
would  have  been  happy  enough.  They  had  warm  clothing, 
made  from  deerskin  and  furs;  to  keep  their  fire  burning,  they 
had  all  the  wood  in  the  forest.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this,  the  cold 
was  a  great  trial;  for  it  was  always  winter,  and  the  deep  snow 
never  melted. 

Some  wise  old  men  had  somewhere  heard  that  the  sky  was 
not  only  the  roof  of  our  own  world,  but  also  was  the  floor  of  a 
beautiful  world  beyond;  a  land  where  birds  with  bright  feathers 


Men  came  to  believe  that 
0-jee£  was  a  Manito*.*« 


kmencaitj 

sang  sweetly  through  a  pleasant,  warm  season  called  Summer. 
It  was  a  pretty  story  that  people  wished  to  believe;  and  likely 
enough,  they  said,  when  you  came  to  think  that  the  sun  was 
so  far  away  from  the  earth,  and  so  close  to  the  sky  itself. 

The  boy  used  to  dream  about  it,  and  wonder  what  could 
be  done.  His  father  could  do  anything;  some  men  said  he 
was  a  Manito.  Perhaps  he  could  find  some  way  to  bring 
Summer  to  the  earth.     That  would  be  the  greatest  thing  of  all. 

Sometimes  it  was  so  cold  that  when  the  boy  went  into  the 
woods  his  fingers  would  be  frost-bitten.  Then  he  could  not 
fit  the  notch  of  his  arrow  to  the  bowstring,  and  was  obliged 
to  go  back  home  without  any  game  whatever.  One  day  he 
had  wandered  far  in  the  forest,  and  was  returning  empty- 
handed,  when  he  saw  a  red  squirrel  seated  on  his  hindlegs  on 
the  stump  of  a  tree.  The  squirrel  was  gnawing  a  pine  cone, 
and  did  not  try  to  run  away  when  the  young  hunter  came  near. 
Then  the  little  animal  spoke: 

"My  grandson,"  said  he,  "there  is  something  I  wish  to  tell 
you  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear.  Put  away  your  arrows, 
and  do  not  try  to  shoot  me,  and  I  shall  give  you  some  gocd 
advice." 

The  boy  was  surprised;  but  he  unstrung  his  bow,  and  put 
the  arrow  in  his  quiver. 

"Now,"  said  the  squirrel,  "listen  carefully  to  what  I  have 
to  say.  The  earth  is  always  covered  with  snow,  and  the  frost 
bites  your  fingers,  and  makes  you  unhappy.  I  dislike  the  cold 
as  much  as  you  do.  To  tell  the  truth,  there  is  little  enough 
tor  me  to  eat  in  these  woods,  with  the  ground  frozen  hard  all 
the  time.  You  can  see  how  thin  I  am,  for  there  is  not  much 
fat  in  a  pine  cone.  If  someone  could  manage  to  bring  the 
Summer  down  from  the  sky,  it  would  be  a  great  blessing." 

"Is  it  really  true,  then,"  asked  the  boy,  "that  up  beyond 
the  sky  is  a  pleasant  warm  land,  where  Winter  only  stays  for 
a  few  moons?" 


die 


onencanimcuanlfairy 

"Yes,  it  is  true,"  said  the  squirrel.  "We  animals  have 
known  it  for  a  long  time.  Ken-eu,  the  war-eagle,  who  soars 
near  the  sun,  once  saw  a  small  crack  in  the  sky.  The  crack 
was  made  by  Way-wass-i-mo,  the  Lightning,  in  a  great  storm 
that  covered  all  the  earth  with  water.  Ken-eu,  the  war-eagle, 
felt  the  warm  air  leaking  through;  but  the  people  who  live 
up  above  mended  the  crack  the  very  next  moment,  and  the 
sky  has  never  leaked  again." 

"Then  our  wise.old  men  were  right,"  said  the  boy.  "O-jeeg, 
my  father,  can  do  most  anything  he  has  a  mind  to.  Do  you 
suppose  if  he  tried  hard  enough,  he  could  get  through  the  sky, 
and  bring  the  Summer  down  to  us?" 

"Of  course!"  exclaimed  the  squirrel.  "That  is  why  I  spoke 
to  you  about  it.  Your  father  is  a  Manito.  If  you  beg  him 
hard  enough,  and  tell  him  how  unhappy  you  are,  he  is  sure  to 
make  the  attempt.  When  you  go  back,  show  him  your  frost- 
bitten fingers.  Tell  him  how  you  tramp  all  day  through  the 
snow,  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  make  your  way  home.  Tell 
him  that  some  day  you  may  be  frozen  stiff,  and  never  get  back 
at  all.  Then  he  will  do  as  you  ask,  because  he  loves  you  very 
much." 

The  boy  thanked  the  squirrel,  and  promised  to  follow  this 
advice.  From  that  day  he  gave  his  father  no  peace.  At 
last  O-jeeg  said  to  him: 

"My  son,  what  you  ask  me  to  do  is  a  dangerous  thing,  and 
I  do  not  know  what  may  come  of  it.  But  my  power  as  a 
Manito  was  given  me  for  a  good  purpose,  and  I  can  put  it 
to  no  better  use  than  to  try  to  bring  the  Summer  down  from 
the  sky,  and  make  the  world  a  more  pleasant  place  to  live  in." 

Then  he  prepared  a  feast  to  which  he  invited  his  friends, 
the  otter,  the  beaver,  the  lynx,  the  badger,  and  the  wolverine; 
and  they  all  put  their  heads  together,  to  decide  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  The  lynx  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  had  trav- 
elled far  on  his  long  legs,  and  had  been  to  many  strange  places. 


41         •       1?  j*    TW  *    ^tFi  „^ftf^f 
mmencanimdianifairyliaLeS  -w-  'Af 

Besides,  if  you  had  good  strong  eyes,  and  you  looked  at  the 
sky,  on  a  clear  night  when  there  was  no  moon,  you  could  see  a 
little  group  of  stars  which  the  wise  old  men  said  was  exactly 
like  a  lynx.  It  gave  him  a  certain  importance,  especially  in 
matters  of  this  kind;  so  when  he  began  to  speak,  the  others 
listened  with  great  respect. 

"There  is  a  high  mountain,"  said  he,  "that  none  of  you 
has  ever  seen.  No  one  ever  saw  the  top,  because  it  is  always 
hidden  by  the  clouds;  but  I  am  told  it  is  the  highest  mountain 
in  the  world,  and  almost  touches  the  sky." 

The  otter  began  to  laugh.  He  is  the  only  animal  that  can 
do  this;  sometimes  he  laughs  for  no  particular  reason,  unless 
it  is  that  he  thinks  himself  more  clever  than  the  other  animals, 
and  likes  to  "show  off." 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  asked  the  lynx. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  answered  the  otter.    "I  was  just  laughing." 

"It  will  get  you  into  trouble  some  day,"  said  the  lynx. 
"Just  because  you  never  heard  of  this  mountain,  you  think  it 
is  not  there." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  get  to  it?"  asked  O-jeeg.  "If  we 
could  climb  to  the  top,  we  might  find  a  way  to  break  through 
the  sky.     It  seems  a  good  plan." 

"That  is  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  lynx.  "It  is  true 
I  don't  know  just  where  it  is.  But  a  moon's  journey  from  here, 
there  lives  a  Manito  who  has  the  shape  of  a  giant.  He  knows, 
and  he  could  tell  us." 

So  O-jeeg  bade  good-bye  to  his  wife  and  his  little  son, 
and  the  next  day  the  lynx  began  the  long  journey,  with 
O-jeeg  and  the  others  following  close  behind.  It  was  just 
as  the  lynx  had  said.  When  they  had  travelled,  day  and 
night,  for  a  moon,  they  came  to  a  lodge,  as  the  white 
men  call  an  Indian's  tent;  and  there  was  the  Manito  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway.  He  was  a  queer-looking  man,  such 
as    they    had    never   seen    before,    with    an    enormous    head 


kinencanJmdianlFaii^ilal^gliF  "Xf 

and  three  eyes,  one  eye  being  set  in  his  forehead  above 
the  other  two. 

He  invited  them  into  the  lodge,  and  set  some  meat  before 
them;  but  he  had  such  an  odd  look,  and  his  movements  were 
so  awkward,  that  the  otter  could  not  help  laughing.  At  this, 
the  eye  in  the  Manito's  forehead  grew  red,  like  a  live  coal, 
and  he  made  a  leap  at  the  otter,  who  barely  managed  to  slip 
through  the  doorway,  out  into  the  bitter  cold  and  darkness 
of  the  night,  without  having  tasted  a  morsel  of  supper. 

When  the  otter  had  gone,  the  Manito  seemed  satisfied, 
and  told  them  they  could  spend  the  night  in  his  lodge.  They 
did  so;  and  O-jeeg,  who  stayed  awake  while  his  friends  slept, 
noticed  that  only  two  of  the  Manito's  eyes  were  closed,  while 
the  one  in  his  forehead  remained  wide  open. 

In  the  morning  the  Manito  told  O-jeeg  to  travel  straight 
toward  the  North  Star,  and  that  in  twenty  suns — the  Indian 
name  for  days — they  would  reach  the  mountain.  "As  you 
are  a  Manito  yourself,"  he  said,  "you  may  be  able  to  climb 
to  the  top,  and  to  take  your  friends  with  you.  But  I  cannot 
promise  that  you  will  be  able  to  get  down  again." 

"If  it  is  close  enough  to  the  sky,"  answered  O-jeeg,  "that 
is  all  I  ask." 

Once  more  they  set  out.  On  their  way  they  met  the  otter, 
who  laughed  again  when  he  saw  them;  but  this  time  he  laughed 
because  he  was  glad  to  find  them,  and  glad  to  get  some  meat 
that  O-jeeg  had  saved  from  the  Manito's  supper. 

In  twenty  days  they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
Then  up  and  up  they  climbed,  till  they  passed  quite  through 
the  clouds;  up  once  more,  till  at  last  they  stopped,  all  out  of 
breath,  and  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  highest  peak  in  the  world. 
To  their  great  delight,  the  sky  seemed  so  close  that  they  could 
almost  touch  it. 

O-jeeg  and  his  comrades  filled  their  pipes.  But  before 
smoking,  they  called  out  to  the  Great  Spirit,  asking  for  success 


aneneaiu 


rv<R 


in  their  attempt.     In  Indian  fashion  they  pointed  to  the  earth, 
to  the  sky  overhead,  and  to  the  four  winds. 

"Now,"  said  O-jeeg,  when  they  had  finished  smoking, 
"which  of  you  can  jump  the  highest?" 

The  otter  grinned. 

"Jump,  then!"  commanded  O-jeeg. 

The  otter  jumped,  and,  sure  enough,  his  head  hit  the  sky. 
But  the  sky  was  the  harder  of  the  two,  and  back  he  fell 
When  he  struck  the  ground,  he  began  to  slide  down  the  moun- 
tain; soon  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  they  saw  him  no  more. 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  lynx.  "He  is  laughing  on  the  other 
side  of  his  mouth." 

It  was  the  beaver's  turn.  He,  too,  hit  the  sky,  but  fell 
down  in  a  heap.  The  badger  and  the  lynx  had  no  better 
luck,  and  their  heads  ached  for  a  long  time  afterward. 

"It  all  depends  on  you,"  said  O-jeeg  to  the  wolverine. 
"You  are  the  strongest  of  them  all.      Ready,  now — jump!" 

The  wolverine  jumped,  and  fell,  but  came  down  on  his 
feet,  sound  and  whole. 

"Good!"  cried  O-jeeg.     "Try  again!" 

This  time  the  wolverine  made  a  dent  in  the  sky. 

"It's  cracking!"  exclaimed  O-jeeg.     "Now,  once  more!" 

For  the  third  time  the  wolverine  jumped.  Through  the 
sky  he  went,  passing  out  of  sight,  and  O-jeeg  quickly  followed 
him. 

Looking  around  them,  they  beheld  a  beautiful  land. 
O-jeeg,  who  had  spent  his  life  among  the  snows,  stood  like  a 
man  who  dreams,  wondering  if  it  could  be  true.  He  had  left 
behind  him  a  bare  world,  white  with  winter,  whose  waters 
were  always  frozen,  a  world  without  song  or  color.  He  had 
now  come  into  a  country  that  was  a  great  green  plain,  with 
flowers  of  many  hues;  where  birds  of  bright  plumage  sang 
amid  the  leafy  branches  of  trees  hung  with  golden  fruit. 
Streams   wandered   through    the   meadows,   and   flowed   into 


f^Tnenca2ilm<^anlFaj.i^lCle^  *W  •?> 

lovely  lakes.  The  air  was  mild,  and  filled  with  the  perfume 
from  a  million  blossoms.     It  was  Summer. 

Along  the  banks  of  a  lake  were  the  lodges  in  which  lived 
the  people  of  the  sky,  who  could  be  seen  some  distance  away. 
The  lodges  were  empty,  but  before  them  were  hung  cages  in 
which  there  were  many  beautiful  birds.  Already  the  warm 
air  of  Summer  had  begun  to  rush  through  the  hole  made  by 
the  wolverine,  and  O-jeeg  now  made  haste  to  open  the  cages, 
so  that  the  birds  could  follow. 

The  sky-dwellers  saw  what  was  happening,  and  raised  a 
great  shout.  But  Spring,  Summer  and  Autumn  had  already 
escaped  through  the  opening  into  the  world  below,  and  many 
of  the  birds  as  well. 

The  wolverine,  too,  had  managed  to  reach  the  hole,  and 
descend  to  the  earth,  before  the  sky-dwellers  could  catch  him. 
But  O-jeeg  was  not  so  fortunate.  There  were  still  some  birds 
remaining  that  he  knew  his  son  would  like  to  see,  so  he  went 
on  opening  the  cages.  By  this  time  the  sky  dwellers  had  closed 
the  hole,  and  O-jeeg  was  too  late. 

As  the  sky-dwellers  pursued  him,  he  changed  himself  into 
the  Fisher,  and  ran  along  the  plain,  toward  the  North,  at 
the  top  of  his  speed.  In  the  form  of  the  Fisher  he  could  run 
faster.  Also,  when  he  took  this  shape,  no  arrow  could  injure 
him  unless  it  hit  a  spot  near  the  tip  of  his  tail. 

But  the  sky-dwellers  ran  even  faster,  and  the  Fisher 
climbed  a  tall  tree.  They  were  good  marksmen,  and  they  shot 
a  great  many  arrows,  until  at  last  one  of  these  chanced  to  hit 
the  fatal  spot.     Then  the  Fisher  knew  that  his  time  had  come. 

Now  he  saw  that  some  of  his  enemies  were  marked  with  the 
totems,  or  family  arms,  of  his  own  tribe.  "My  Cousins'" 
he  called  to  them.  "I  beg  of  you  that  you  go  away,  and  leave 
me  here  alone." 

The  sky-dwellers  granted  his  request.  When  they  had 
gone,   the  Fisher  came  down   from   the  tree,  and  wandered 


kinericani 


uli 


anirairyj 


iWi 


around  for  a  time,  seeking  some  opening  in  the  plain  through 
which  he  might  return  to  the  earth.  But  there  was  no  open- 
ing; so  at  last,  feeling  weak  and  faint,  he  stretched  himself 
flat  on  the  floor  of  the  sky,  through  which  the  stars  may  be 
seen  from  the  world  below. 

"I  have  kept  my  promise,"  he  said  with  a  sigh  of  content. 
"My  son  will  now  enjoy  the  summer,  and  so  will  all  the  people 
who  dwell  on  the  earth.  Through  the  ages  to  come  I  shall 
be  set  as  a  sign  in  the  heavens,  and  my  name  will  be  spoken 
with  praise.     I  am  satisfied." 

So  it  came  about  that  the  Fisher  remained  in  the  sky, 
where  you  can  see  him  plainly  for  yourself,  on  a  clear  night, 
with  the  arrow  through  his  tail.  The  Indians  call  them  the 
Fisher  Stars — O-jeeg  An-nung;  but  to  white  men  are  they 
known  as  the  constellation  of  the  Plough. 


CfrassRopper 


[HERE  was  once  a  merry  young 

Indian  who  could  jump  so  high,  and  who 
played  so  many  pranks,  that  he  came  to 
be  known  as  Grasshopper.  He  was  a  tall, 
handsome  fellow,  always,  up  to  mischief  of  one  kind  or  another; 
and  though  his  tricks  were  sometimes  amusing,  he  carried 
them  much  too  far,  and  so  in  time  he  came  to  grief. 

Grasshopper  owned  all  the  things  that  an  Indian  likes 
most  to  have.  In  his  lodge  were  all  sorts  of  pipes  and  weapons, 
ermine  and  other  choice  furs,  deer-skin  shirts  wrought  with 
porcupine  quills,  many  pairs  of  beaded  moccasins,  and  more 
wampum  belts  than  one  person  could  have  honestly  come  by. 

The  truth  is,  Grasshopper  did  not  get  these  things  by  his 
skill  and  courage  as  a  hunter.  He  got  them  by  shaking  pieces 
of  colored  bone  and  wood  in  a  wooden  bowl,  then  throwing 
them  on  the  ground.  That  is  to  say,  Grasshopper  was  a 
gambler,  and  such  a  lucky  gambler  that  he  easily  won  from 
others,  with  his  game  of  Bowl  and  Counters,  the  things  that 
they  had  obtained  by  risking  their  lives  in  the  hunt. 

If  people  put  up  with  his  ways,  and  even  laughed  at  some 
of  his  mad  pranks,  it  was  because  he  could  dance  so  well. 
Never  had  there  been  such  a  dancer.  Was  there  a  wedding 
to  be  celebrated,  or  some  feast  following  a  successful  hunt — 
then  who  but  Grasshopper  could  so  well  supply  the  enter- 
tainment? 

He  could  dance  with  a  step  so  light  that  it  seemed  to  leave 
no  mark  upon  the  earth.  He  could  dance  as  the  Indian 
dances  when  he  goes  to  war,  or  as  when  he  holds  a  festival  in 
honor  of  the  corn.  But  the  dance  in  which  he  excelled  was  a 
furious,  dizzy  dance,  with  leaps  and  bounds,  that  fairly  turned 
the  heads  of  the  beholders. 


IF    v     1W  *    3TPt     ^jpg^F 
kinencanlhicuanlrairyilaLeg  tSp  <n> 

It  was  then  that  Grasshopper  became  a  kind  of  human 
whirlwind.  As  he  spun  round  and  round,  his  revolving  body 
drew  up  the  dry  leaves  and  the  dust,  till  the  dancer  all  but 
faded  from  view,  and  you  saw  instead  what  looked  like 
a  whirling  cloud. 

Once,  when  the  great  Manito,  named  Man-a-bo-zho,  took 
a  wife  and  came  to  live  with  the  tribe,  that  he  might  teach 
them  best  how  to  live,  Grasshopper  danced  at  the  wedding. 
The  Beggar's  Dance,  he  called  it,  and  such  a  dance!  On  the 
shores  of  the  Big-Sea-Water,  Gitche  Gumee,  are  heaps  of 
sand  rising  into  little  hills  known  as  dunes.  Had  you  asked 
Iagoo,  he  would  have  told  you  that  these  dunes  were  the  work 
of  Grasshopper,  who  whirled  the  sands  together,  and  piled 
them  into  hills,  as  he  spun  madly  around  in  his  dance  at 
Man-a-bo-zho's  wedding. 

But  though  Grasshopper  came  to  the  wedding,  and  danced 
this  crazy  Beggar's  Dance,  it  seems  probable  that  he  did  it 
more  to  please  himself,  and  to  show  his  skill,  than  to  honor 
the  great  Man-a-bo-zho.  Grasshopper  really  had  no  respect 
for  anybody.  When  Iagoo's  grandfather  was  in  the  middle 
of  some  interesting  story,  and  had  come  to  the  most  exciting 
part,  Grasshopper  likely  as  not  would  yawn  and  stretch  him- 
self, and  say  in  a  loud  whisper  that  he  had  heard  it  all  before. 

So,  too,  with  Man-a-bo-zho.  This  great  Manito,  who  was 
the  son  of  the  West- Wind,  Mud-je-kee-wis,  had  magic  powers 
which  he  used  for  the  good  of  the  tribe.  It  was  he  who  fasted 
and  prayed,  that  his  people  might  be  given  food  other  than 
the  wild  things  of  the  woods;  and  whose  prayer  was  answered 
with  the  gift  of  the  Indian  corn.  Then  when  Kah-gah-gee, 
King  of  ravens,  flew  down  with  his  band  of  black  thieves, 
to  tear  up  the  seed  in  the  ground,  it  was  Man-a-bo-zho  who 
snared  him,  and  tied  him  fast  to  the  ridge-pole  of  his  lodge, 
to  croak  out  a  warning  to  the  others. 

But  Man-a-bo-zho's  goodness  and  wisdom  had  little  effect 


OOO  The  Beggars  Dance..  <]Q^ 


on  Grasshopper.  "Pooh!"  he  would  say.  "Why  should  an 
Indian  bother  his  head  with  planting  corn,  when  he  can  draw 
his  bow  and  kill  a  good  fat  deer?"  Then  he  shook  his  wolf- 
skin pouch,  and  rattled  the  pieces  of  bone  and  wood.  "As 
long  as  I  have  these,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  need  nothing  more. 
After  all,  it  is  everybody  else  that  works  for  the  man  who 
knows  how  to  use  his  head." 

He  walked  through  the  village,  very  proud  and  straight, 
with  his  fan  of  turkey-feathers,  a  swan's  plume  fastened  in  his 
long,  black  hair,  and  the  tails  of  foxes  trailing  from  his  heels. 
In  his  white  deer-skin  shirt,  edged  with  ermine,  his  leggings 
and  moccasins  ornamented  with  beads  and  porcupine  quills, 
he  cut  a  fine  figure.  There  was  to  be  a  dance  that  night,  and 
Grasshopper,  who  was  a  great  dandy  and  a  favorite  with  all 
the  young  girls  and  women,  had  decked  himself  out  for  the 
occasion.  He  had  painted  his  face  with  streaks  of  blue  and 
vermilion;  his  blue-black  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  and 
glistening  with  oil,  hung  to  his  shoulders  in  braids  plaited  with 
sweet  grass.  The  warriors  might  call  him  Shau-go-daya,  a 
coward,  and  make  jokes  at  his  expense,  but  he  did  not  care. 
Could  he  not  beat  them  all  when  it  came  to  playing  ball  or 
quoits,  and  were  not  the  maidens  all  in  love  with  his  good  looks  ? 

Meanwhile,  Grasshopper  wished  to  pass  the  time  in  some 
pleasant  way.  Glancing  through  the  door  of  a  lodge,  he  saw 
a  group  of  young  men  seated  on  the  ground,  listening  to  one 
of  old  Iagoo's  stories. 

"Ha !"  he  cried.  "Have  you  nothing  better  to  do  ?  Here's 
a  game  worth  playing." 

He  drew  from  his  pouch  the  thirteen  pieces  of  bone  and 
wood,  and  juggled  them  from  one  hand  to  the  other.  But 
no  one  paid  any  attention  to  him.  After  all,  Grasshopper 
had  "more  brains  in  his  heels  than  in  his  head."  For  once  he 
had  been  too  cunning;  fearing  his  skill,  no  one  could  be  found 
who  would  play  with  him. 


dian lFairyJEle^^8F  ^ 


kinerican 

"Pooh!"  muttered  Grasshopper,  as  he  turned  away. 
"I  see  how  it  is.  The  pious  Man-a-bo-zho  has  been  preaching 
to  them  again.  This  village  is  getting  to  be  pretty  tiresome 
to  live  in.  It's  about  time  for  me  to  strike  out,  and  find  a 
place  where  the  young  men  don't  sit  around  and  talk  to  the 
squaws," 

He  walked  along,  bent  on  mischief.  Even  the  dance  was 
forgotten;  he  wondered  what  he  could  do  to  amuse  himself. 
As  he  came  to  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  he  passed  the  lodge 
of  Man-a-bo-zho.  "I  would  like  to  play  him  some  trick," 
he  said,  under  his  breath,  "so  he  will  remember  me  when  I  am 
gone."  But  he  was  well  aware  that  Man-a-bo-zho  was  much 
more  powerful  than  himself;  so  he  hesitated,  not  knowing 
exactly  what  do  to. 

At  last  he  walked  softly  to  the  doorway,  and  listened,  but 
could  hear  no  sound  of  voices.  "Good!"  he  said  with  a  grin. 
"Perhaps  nobody  is  at  home."  With  that,  he  spun  around 
the  outside  of  the  lodge,  on  one  leg,  raising  a  great  cloud  of 
dust.  No  one  came  out;  but  on  the  ridge-pole  of  the  lodge, 
the  captive  Kah-gah-gee,  King  of  ravens,  flapped  his  big 
black  wings,  and  screamed  with  a  hoarse,  rasping  cry. 

"Fool!"  cried  Grasshopper.     "Noisy  fool!" 

With  a  bound,  he  leapt  clear  over  the  lodge,  and  then  back 
again;  at  which  the  raven  screamed  more  harshly  than  ever. 
But  within  the  lodge  all  was  silent. 

Grasshopper  grew  bolder.  Going  to  the  doorway  again, 
he  rattled  the  flap  of  buffalo  hide.  Nobody  answered;  so, 
cautiously  drawing  the  curtain  to  one  side,  he  ventured  to 
peer  in.     Then  he  chuckled  softly.     The  lodge  was  empty. 

"This  is  my  chance!"  he  exclaimed.  "Man-a-bo-zho  is 
away,  and  so  is  his  foolish  wife.  I'll  just  pay  my  respects 
before  they  come  back,  and  then  I'll  be  off  for  good." 

Saying  this,  he  went  in,  and  began  to  turn  everything  up- 
side down.     He  threw  all  the  bowls  and  kettles  in  a  corner, 


m 


kmencanltri<lianlFaj.rylCle§  *W  %> 


filled  the  drinking  gourds  with  ashes  from  the  fire,  flung  the 
rich  furs  and  embroidered  garments  this  way  and  that,  and 
strewed  the  floor  with  wampum  belts  and  arrows.  When  he 
finished,  one  might  have  thought  a  crazy  man  had  been  there. 
No  woman  in  the  village  was  more  neat  and  orderly  than  the 
wife  of  Man-a-bo-zho,  and  Grasshopper  knew  this  would  vex 
her  more  than  anything  else  he  could  do. 

"Now  for  Man-a-bo-zho,"  he  grinned  as  he  left  the  lodge, 
well  pleased  with  the  mischief  he  had  wrought. 

"Caw,  caw!"  screamed  the  King  of  ravens. 

"Kaw!"  answered  Grasshopper,  mocking  him.  "A  pretty 
sort  of  pet  you  are.  Does  Man-a-bo-zho  keep  you  sitting 
there  because  you  are  so  handsome?     Or  is  it  your  beautiful 


3»  i 

voice: 


With  that,  he  made  a  leap  to  the  ridge-pole,  seized  the  raven 
by  the  neck,  and  whirled  it  round  and  round  till  it  was  quite 
limp  and  lifeless.  Then  he  left  it  hanging  there,  as  an  insult 
to  Man-a-bo-zho. 

He  was  now  in  high  good  humor,  and  went  his  way  through 
the  forest,  whistling  and  singing,  and  turning  hand-springs  to 
amuse  the  squirrels.  There  was  a  high  rock,  overlooking  the 
lake,  from  the  top  of  which  one  could  view  the  country  for 
miles  and  miles.  Grasshopper  climbed  it.  He  could  see  the 
village  plainly,  so  he  thought  he  would  wait  there  till 
Man-a-bo-zho  came  home.    That  would  be  part  of  the  joke. 

As  he  sat  there,  many  birds  darted  around  him,  flying  close 
over  his  head.  Man-a-bo-zho  called  these  fowls  of  the  air 
his  chickens,  and  he  had  put  them  under  his  protection.  But 
Grasshopper  had  grown  reckless.  Along  came  a  flock  of  moun- 
tain chickens,  and  he  strung  his  bow,  and  shot  them  as  they 
flew,  for  no  better  reason  than  because  they  were  Man-a-bo-zho's, 
and  not  because  he  needed  them  for  food.  Bird  after  bird 
fell,  pierced  by  his  arrows;  when  they  had  fallen,  he  would 
throw  their  bodies  down  the  cliff,  upon  the  beach  below. 


Icl  Ulr  ^iTnencanllniianlFainrjEle^TiF  "af 

At  last  Kay-oshk,  the  sea-gull,  spied  him  at  this  cruel 
sport,  and  gave  the  alarm.  "Grasshopper  is  killing  us," 
he  called.  "Fly,  brothers!  Fly  away,  and  tell  our  protector 
that  Grasshopper  is  slaying  us  with  his  arrows." 

When  Man-a-bo-zho  heard  the  news,  his  eyes  flashed  fire, 
and  he  spoke  in  a  voice  of  thunder: 

"Grasshopper  must  die  for  this!  He  cannot  escape  me. 
Though  he  fly  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  I  shall  follow,  and  visit 
my  vengeance  upon  him." 

On  his  feet  he  bound  his  magic  moccasins  with  which,  at 
each  stride,  he  could  step  a  full  mile.  On  his  hands  he  drew 
his  magic  mittens  with  which,  at  one  blow,  he  could  shatter 
the  hardest  rock.     Then  he  started  in  pursuit. 

Grasshopper  had  heard  the  warning  call  of  the  sea-gull, 
and  knew  it  was  time  to  be  off.  He,  too,  could  run.  So 
fleet  of  foot  was  he  that  he  could  shoot  an  arrow  ahead  of  him, 
and  reach  the  spot  where  it  fell  before  it  dropped  to  earth. 
Also,  he  had  the  power  to  change  himself  into  other  shapes, 
and  it  was  almost  impossible  to  kill  him.  If,  for  example, 
he  entered  the  body  of  a  beaver,  and  the  beaver  was  slain,  no 
sooner  had  its  flesh  grown  cold  than  the  Jee-bi,  or  spirit,  of 
Grasshopper  would  leave  the  dead  body,  and  Grasshopper 
would  become  a  man  again,  ready  for  some  new  adventure. 

But  at  first  he  trusted  to  his  legs  and  to  his  cunning.  On 
rushed  Man-a-bo-zho,  breathing  vengeance;  swiftly,  like  a 
moving  shadow,  fled  Grasshopper.  Through  the  forest  and 
across  the  hills  he  fled,  faster  than  the  hare.  His  pursuer  was 
hot  on  the  trail.  Once  he  came  upon  the  forest  bed  where  the 
grass  was  still  warm  and  bent;  but  the  Grasshopper,  who 
had  rested  there,  was  far  away.  Once  Man-a-bo-zho, 
high  on  a  mountain,  spied  him  in  the  meadow  below.  Grass- 
hopper had  shown  himself  on  purpose,  and  mocked  the  great 
Manito,  and  defied  him.  The  truth  is,  Grasshopper  was  just 
a  bit  conceited. 


f£  t*F ^America*!. ImdianlELirylCleg  HF  <n$ 

At  last  he  grew  tired  of  running.  Not  that  his  legs  ached 
him  or  his  feet  were  sore.  But  this  kind  of  life  was  not  much 
to  his  liking,  and  he  kept  his  eye  open  for  something  new. 
Pretty  soon  he  came  to  a  stream  where  the  water  was  backed 
up  by  some  kind  of  a  dam,  so  that  it  flooded  the  banks. 
Grasshopper  had  run  about  a  thousand  miles  that  day — count- 
ing all  the  turns  and  twists.  He  was  hot  and  dusty,  and  the 
pond,  with  its  water-lilies  and  rushes,  looked  cool  and  refresh- 
ing. From  far,  far  away  came  a  faint  sound;  it  was  the  voice 
of  Man-a-bo-zho,  shouting  his  war-cry. 

"Tiresome  fellow!"  said  Grasshopper.  "I  could  almost 
wish  I  were  a  beaver,  and  lived  down  there  at  the  bottom  of 
the  pond,  where  no  one  would  disturb  me." 

Then  up  popped  the  head  of  a  beaver,  who  looked  at  him 
suspiciously. 

"Don't  be  alarmed.  I  left  my  bow  and  arrows  over  there 
in  the  grass,"  explained  Grasshopper.  "Besides,  I  was  just 
thinking  I  would  like  to  be  a  beaver  myself.  What  do  you 
say  to  that?" 

"I  shall  have  to  consult  Ahmeek,  our  chief,"  answered  the 
friendly  animal. 

Down  he  dived  to  the  bottom,  and  pretty  soon  Ahmeek's 
head  appeared  above  the  water,  followed  by  the  heads  of 
twenty  others. 

"Let  me  be  one  of  you,"  said  Grasshopper.  "You  have  a 
pleasant  home  down  there  in  the  clear,  cool  water,  and  I  am 
tired  of  the  life  I  lead." 

Ahmeek  was  pleased  that  such  a  strong,  handsome  young 
Indian  should  wish  to  join  their  company. 

"But  I  can  help  you,"  he  answered,  "only  after  you  have 
plunged  into  the  pond.  Do  you  think  you  can  change  your- 
self into  one  of  us?" 

"That  is  easy,"  said  Grasshopper. 

He  waded  into  the  water  up  to  his  waist;  and  behold!  he 


fa  l^^Mnencanlm<^anl^ryjEle5^lr  'A? 

had  a  broad  flat  tail.  Deeper  and  deeper  he  went;  as  the 
water  closed  above  his  head  he  became  a  beaver,  with  glossy, 
black  fur,  and  feet  webbed  like  a  duck's.  Down  he  sank  with 
the  others  to  the  bottom,  which  was  covered  with  heaps  of 
logs  and  branches. 

"That,"  explained  Ahmeek,  "is  the  food  we  have  stored 
for  the  winter.  We  eat  the  bark,  and  you  will  soon  be  as  fat 
as  any  of  us." 

"But  I  want  to  be  even  fatter,"  said  Grasshopper.  "Fatter 
and  ten  times  as  big." 

"As  you  please,"  agreed  Ahmeek.  "We  can  help  to  make 
you  just  as  big  as  you  wish." 

They  reached  the  lodge  where  the  beavers  lived,  and  en- 
tered the  doorway,  leading  into  a  number  of  large  rooms. 
Grasshopper  selected  the  largest  one  for  himself. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "bring  me  all  the  food  I  can  eat,  and  when 
I  am  big  enough  I  will  be  your  chief." 

The  beavers  were  willing.  They  set  to  work  getting 
quantities  of  the  juiciest  bark  for  Grasshopper,  who  was  de- 
lighted with  this  lazy  life,  and  did  little  more  than  eat  or  sleep. 
Bigger  and  bigger  he  grew,  till  at  last  he  was  ten  times  the 
size  of  Ahmeek,  and  could  barely  manage  to  move  around. in 
his  lodge.     He  was  perfectly  happy. 

But  one  day  the  beaver  who  kept  watch  up  above,  among 
the  rushes  of  the  pond,  came  swimming  to  the  lodge  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement. 

"The  hunters  are  after  us,"  he  panted.  "It  is  indeed 
Man-a-bo-zho  himself,  with  his  hunters.  They  are  breaking 
down  our  dam!" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  water  in  the  pond  sank  lower  and 
lower;  the  next  moment  came  the  tramping  of  feet,  as  the 
hunters  leapt  upon  the  roof  of  the  lodge,  trying  to  break  it  open. 

All  the  beavers  but  Grasshopper  scampered  out  of  the 
lodge,  and  escaped  into  the  stream,  where  they  hid  themselves 


oneneaiti 

in  some  deep  pools,  or  swam  far  down  with  the  current. 
Grasshopper  did  his  best  to  follow  them,  but  could  not.  The 
doorway  was  too  small  for  his  big,  fat  body;  when  he  attempted 
to  go  through  it,  he  found  himself  stuck  fast. 

Then  the  roof  gave  way,  and  the  head  of  an  Indian 
appeared. 

"Ty-au!"  he  called.  "Tut-ty-au!  See  what's  here! 
This  must  be  Me-shau-mik,  the  King  of  the  beavers." 

Man-a-bo-zho  came,  and  gave  one  look. 

"It's  Grasshopper!"  he  cried.  "I  can  see  through  his 
tricks.     It's  Grasshopper  in  the  skin  of  a  beaver." 

Then  they  fell  upon  him  with  their  clubs;  and  eight  tall 
Indians,  having  swung  his  limp  carcass  upon  poles,  carried  it 
off  in  triumph  through  the  woods. 

But  his  Jee-bi,  or  spirit,  was  still  in  the  body  of  the  beaver, 
and  struggled  to  escape.  The  Indians  bore  him  to  their  lodges 
and  prepared  to  make  a  feast.  Then,  when  the  squaws  were 
ready  to  skin  him,  his  flesh  was  quite  cold,  and  the  spirit 
of  Grasshopper  left  the  beaver's  body,  and  glided  swiftly 
away.  As  the  shadowy  shape  fled  across  the  prairie,  into  the 
forest,  the  watchful  Man-a-bo-zho  saw  it  take  the  human  form 
of  Grasshopper,  and  he  started  in  pursuit. 

Grasshopper's  life  among  the  beavers  had  made  him  lazier 
than  ever,  and  as  he  ran  he  looked  around  for  some  easier  way 
than  running.  Soon  he  came  upon  a  herd  of  elk,  a  species  of 
deer  with  large,  spreading  horns.  The  elk  were  feeding 
contentedly,  and  looked  sleek  and  fat. 

"They  lead  a  free  and  happy  life,"  said  Grasshopper  as  he 
watched  them.  "Why  fatigue  myself  with  running?  I'll 
change  myself  into  an  elk,  and  join  their  band." 

Horns  sprouted  from  his  head;  in  a  few  minutes  the  trans- 
formation was  complete.     Still  he  was  not  satisfied. 

"I  am  hardly  big  enough,"  he  said  to  the  leader.  "My 
feet  are  much  too  small,  and  my  horns  should  be  twice  the 


size  of  yours.     Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to  make  them  grow?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  leader  of  the  elks.  "But  you  do  it 
at  your  own  risk." 

He  took  Grasshopper  into  the  woods,  and  showed  him  a 
bright  red  berry  that  hung  in  clusters  on  some  small,  low 
bushes. 

"Eat  these,"  he  said,  "and  nothing  else,  and  your  horns 
and  feet  will  soon  be  much  bigger  than  ours.  However,  it 
would  be  wise  if  you  did  not  eat  too  many  of  them." 

The  berries  were  delicious.  Grasshopper  felt  that  he  could 
not  get  enough,  and  he  ate  them  greedily  whenever  he  could 
find  them.  Before  long  his  feet  had  grown  so  large  and  heavy 
he  could  hardly  keep  up  with  the  herd,  while  his  horns  had  such 
a  huge  spread  that  he  sometimes  found  them  rather  in  his  way. 

One  cold  day  the  herd  went  into  the  woods  for  shelter; 
pretty  soon  some  of  the  elks  who  had  lingered  behind  came 
rushing  by  with  snorts  of  alarm.  Hunters  were  pursuing 
them. 

"Run!"  called  out  the  leader  to  Grasshopper.  "Follow 
us  out  on  the  prairie,  where  the  Indians  cannot  catch  us." 

Grasshopper  tried  to  follow  them;  but  his  big  feet  weighted 
him  down,  and  he  ran  slowly.  Then,  as  he  plunged  madly 
through  a  thicket,  his  spreading  horns  were  entangled  in  some 
low  branches  that  held  him  fast.  Already  several  arrows  had 
whizzed  by  him;  another  pierced  his  heart,  and  he  sank  to  the 
ground. 

Along  came  the  hunters,  with  a  whoop.  "Ty-au!"  they 
exclaimed  when  they  saw  the  enormous  elk.  "It  is  he  who 
made  the  large  tracks  on  the  prairie.     Ty-au!" 

As  they  were  skinning  him,  Man-a-bo-zho  joined  the  party; 
and  at  that  moment  the  Jee-bi,  or  spirit,  of  Grasshopper  escaped 
through  the  mouth  of  the  dead  elk,  and  passed  swiftly  to 
the  open  plains,  like  a  puff  of  white  smoke  driven  before  the 
wind.     Then,  as    Man-a-bo-zho   watched   it   melt    away,  he 


ifc  Tl^^mTiciencaiilmdianlEai^lELLeg  ISF  ^af 

saw  once  more  the  mortal  shape  of  Grasshopper;  and  once  more 
he  followed  after,  breathing  vengeance. 

As  Grasshopper  ran  on,  a  new  thought  came  into  his  head. 
Above  him  in  the  clear  blue  sky  the  birds  wheeled  and  soared. 
"There  is  the  place  for  me,"  he  said,  "far  up  in  the  sky.  Let 
me  have  wings,  and  I  can  laugh  at  Man-a-bo-zho." 

Ahead  of  him  was  a  lake;  approaching  it,  he  saw  a  flock  of 
wild  geese  known  as  brant,  feeding  among  the  rushes.  "Ha," 
said  Grasshopper,  admiring  them  as  they  sailed  smoothly 
here  and  there.  "They  will  soon  be  winging  their  way  to  the 
North.     I  would  like  to  fly  in  their  company." 

He  spoke  to  them,  calling  them  Pish-ne-kuh,  his  brothers, 
and  they  consented  to  receive  him  as  one  of  the  flock.  So  he 
floated  on  his  back  till  feathers  sprouted  on  him,  and  he  be- 
came a  brant,  with  a  broad  black  beak,  and  a  tail  that  would 
guide  him  through  the  air  as  a  rudder  steers  a  ship. 

Greedy  as  ever,  he  fed  long  after  the  others  had  had  enough, 
so  that  he  soon  grew  into  the  biggest  brant  ever  seen.  His 
beak  looked  like  the  paddles  of  a  canoe;  when  he  spread  his 
wings  they  were  as  large  as  two  large  au-puk-wa,  or  mats. 
The  wild  geese  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  "You  must 
fly  in  the  lead,"  they  said. 

"No,"  answered  Grasshopper.    "I  would  rather  fly  behind." 

"As  you  please,"  they  told  him.  "But  you  will  have  to  be 
careful.  By  all  means  keep  your  head  and  neck  straight  out 
before  you,  and  do  not  look  down  as  you  fly,  or  you  may  meet 
with  an  accident." 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  them  flap  their  wings,  stretch 
their  long  necks,  and  rise  with  a  "whir"  from  the  lake,  mounting 
the  wind,  and  rushing  on  before  it.  They  flew  with  a  breeze 
from  the  south,  faster  and  faster,  till  their  speed  was  like  the 
flight  of  an  arrow. 

One  day,  passing  over  a  village,  they  could  hear  the  people 
shouting.     The  Indians  were  amazed  at  the  size  of  the  big 


U  liF  J^mencaitlmclianlfi airylELe^  1SF  ^af 

brant,  flying  in  the  rear  of  the  flock;  yelling  as  loud  as  they 
could  yell,  their  cries  made  Grasshopper  curious.  One  voice 
especially  seemed  familiar  to  him,  and  he  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  draw  in  his  neck  and  stretch  it  down  to- 
ward the  earth.  As  he  did  so,  the  strong  wind  caught  his  tail, 
and  turned  him  over  and  over.  In  vain  he  tried  to  recover 
his  balance;  the  wind  whirled  him  round  and  round,  as  it  whirls 
a  leaf.  The  earth  came  nearer,  the  shouts  of  the  Indians  grew 
louder  in  his  ears;  at  last  he  fell  with  a  thud,  and  lay  lifeless. 

It  was  a  fine  feast  of  wild  goose  that  had  dropped  so  sud- 
denly from  the  skies.  The  hungry  Indians  pounced  upon  him, 
and  began  to  pluck  his  feathers.  This  was  the  very  village 
where  Grasshopper  had  once  lived;  little  had  he  dreamed  that 
he  would  ever  return  to  supply  it  with  such  a  dinner,  a  dinner 
at  which  he  himself  was  to  be  the  best  dish. 

But  again  his  Jee-bi,  or  spirit,  went  forth,  and  fled  in  the 
form  of  Grasshopper;  again  Man-a-bo-zho,  shouting  his  war- 
cry,  followed  after. 

Grasshopper  had  now  come  to  the  desert  places,  where 
there  were  few  trees,  and  no  signs  of  animal  life.  Man-a- 
bo-zho  was  gaining  on  him;  he  must  play  some  new  trick. 
Coming  at  last  to  a  tall  pine-tree  growing  in  the  rock,  he  climb- 
ed it,  pulled  off  all  the  green  needles,  and  scattered  them  about, 
leaving  the  branches  quite  bare.  Then  he  took  to  his  heels 
again.  When  Man-a-bo-zho  came,  the  pine  spoke  to  him, 
saying: 

"See  what  Grasshopper  has  done.  Without  my  foliage 
I  am  sure  to  die.  Great  Manito,  I  pray  you  give  me  back 
my  green  dress." 

Man-a-bo-zho,  who  loves  and  protects  all  trees,  had  pity 
on  the  pine.  He  collected  the  scattered  needles,  and  restored 
them  to  the  branches.  Then  he  hastened  on  with  such  speed 
that  he  overtook  Grasshopper,  and  put  his  hand  out  to  clutch 
him.     But    Grasshopper    stepped    quickly    aside,    and    spun 


m  Ir  =J^TnencanlmcKanlF airjrEle^  18F  "K 


round  and  round  on  one  leg  in  his  whirlwind  dance,  till  the  air 
all  about  was  filled  with  leaves  and  sand.  In  the  midst  of 
this  whirlwind  he  sprang  into  a  hollow  tree,  and  changed 
himself  into  a  snake.  Then  he  crept  out  through  the  roots, 
and  not  a  moment  too  soon;  for  Man-a-bo-zho  smote  the  tree 
with  one  of  his  magic  mittens,  and  crumbled  it  to  powder. 

Grasshopper  changed  himself  back  into  his  human  form, 
and  ran  for  dear  life.  The  only  thing  left  for  him  to  do  was 
to  hide.  But  where?  In  his  headlong  flight  he  had  come 
again  to  the  shores  of  the  Great  Lake;  and  he  saw  rising  before 
him  the  high  cliff  of  the  Picture  Rocks.  If  he  could  but  manage 
to  reach  these  rocks,  the  Manito  of  the  Mountain,  who  lived 
in  one  of  the  gloomy  caverns,  might  let  him  in.  Sure  enough ! 
As  he  reached  the  cliff,  calling  out  for  help,  the  Manito  opened 
the  door,  and  told  him  to  enter. 

Hardly  had  the  big  door  closed  with  a  bang,  than  along 
came  Man-a-bo-zho.  With  his  mitten  he  gave  a  tap  on  the 
rock  that  made  the  splinters  fly. 

"Open!"  he  cried,  in  a  terrible  voice.  , 

But  the  Manito  was  brave  and  hospitable. 

"I  have  sheltered  you,"  he  said  to  Grasshopper,  "and  I 
would  rather  die  myself  than  give  you  up." 

Man-a-bo-zho  waited,  but  no  answer  came. 

"As  you  will,"  he  said  at  last.  "If  the  door  is  not  opened 
to  me  by  night,  I  shall  call  upon  the  Thunder  and  the  Light- 
ning to  do  my  bidding." 

The  hours  passed;  darkness  fell.  Then  from  a  black  cloud 
that  had  gathered  over  the  Great  Lake,  Way-wass-i-mo,  the 
red-eyed  Lightning,  shot  his  bolts  of  fire.  Crash — boom — 
crash!  An-ne-mee-kee,  the  Thunder,  shouted  hoarsely  from 
the  heavens.  A  wild  wind  arose;  the  trees  of  the  forest  swayed 
and  groaned,  and  the  foxes  hid  in  their  holes. 

Way-wass-i-mo,  the  Lightning,  leapt  from  the  black  cloud, 
and  darted  at  the  cliff.     The  rock  trembled;  the  door  was 


kmericani 


.£ 


anifuiryj 


("W^E 


shivered,  and  fell  apart.  Out  from  his  gloomy  cavern  came  the 
Manito  of  the  Mountain,  asking  Man-a-bo-zho  for  mercy. 
It  was  granted,  and  the  Manito  fled  to  the  hills. 

Grasshopper  then  appeared;  the  next  moment  he  was 
buried  under  a  mass  of  rock  shaken  loose  by  An-ne-mee-kee, 
the  Thunder.  This  time  he  had  been  killed  in  his  human  form, 
he  could  play  his  mad  pranks  no  more. 

But  Man-a-bo-zho,  the  merciful,  remembered  that  Grass- 
hopper was  not  wholly  bad. 

"Your  Jee-bi"  he  said,  "must  no  longer  remain  upon  the 
earth  in  any  form  whatever.  As  a  man  you  lived  an  idle, 
foolish  life,  and  you  are  no  longer  wanted  here.  Instead,  I 
shall  permit  you  to  inhabit  the  skies." 

Saying  this,  he  took  the  ghost  of  Grasshopper,  and  clothed 
it  with  the  shape  of  the  war-eagle,  bidding  him  to  be  chief 
of  all  the  fowls. 

But  Grasshopper,  the  mischievous,  is  not  forgotten  by  the 
people.  In  the  late  winter  days,  snow  fine  as  powder  fills 
the  air  like  a  vapor.  It  keeps  the  hunter  from  his  traps,  the 
fisherman  from  his  hole  in  the  ice.  Suddenly  a  puff  of  wind 
seizes  this  light,  powdery  snow,  blows  it  round  and  round, 
and  sets  it  whirling  along;  and  when  this  happens,  the  Indians 
laugh  and  say: 

"Look!  There  goes  Grasshopper.  See  how  well  he 
dances." 


jMishrO-sKa ,  tbeMa^icia^lJ 

N  the  heart  of  the   great   green    forest   once 
lived  a  hunter  whose  lodge  was  many  miles 
distant  from  the  wigwams  of  his  tribe.     His 
wife  had  long  since  died,  and  he  dwelt   there 
all   alone  with  his   two  young  sons,  who  grew 
up  as  best  they  could  without  a  mother's  care. 

When  the  father  was  away  on  a  hunting  trip,  the  boys  had 
no  companions  but  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  with 
some  of  the  smaller  animals  they  became  fast  friends. 
Ad-ji-dau-mo,  the  squirrel,  scampering  from  tree  to  tree,  would 
let  his  nut-shells  fall  plump  on  the  roof  of  the  lodge.  That 
was  his  way  of  knocking  at  the  door,  coming  to  pay  a  morning 
call.  He  was  a  great  talker,  without  much  to  say — as  is 
often  so  with  those  whose  voices  are  seldom  still.  But  he 
was  bright  and  merry,  chattering  away  cheerfully  about 
nothing  in  particular;  and  it  made  no  difference  whether  you 
listened  to  him  or  not. 

Wa-bo-se,  the  little  white  hare,  was  another  friend.  One 
winter's  day,  when  forest  food  was  scarce,  O-ne-o-ta,  the  lynx, 
was  just  about  to  pounce  upon  him,  when  the  boys'  father 
let  fly  an  arrow — and  O-ne-o-ta  was  no  longer  interested  in 
little  white  hares. 

Wa-bo-se  was  grateful  for  this,  and  sometimes  in  his  shy 
way  he  tried  to  show  it. 

The  father  and  the  boys  lived  mostly  on  big  game,  like 
bear  and  venison.  This  meat  would  be  cut  in  strips,  and  cured; 
sometimes  it  had  to  last  them  many  a  long  day,  when  game 
was  scarce,  or  the  woods  so  dry  for  want  of  rain  that  the  twigs 
would  snap  under  the  hunter's  feet,  and  warn  the  animals 


kTiaencaiillriclianirairsrIELeg  1SF  ^W 

he  was  coming.     So  the  boys  were  used  to  being  left  alone  for 
weeks  at  a  time,  when  their  father  was  absent. 

Then  came  a  season  of  famine.  No  berries  grew  on  the 
bushes,  grass  withered  on  the  stalk,  few  acorns  hung  on  the 
oaks.  Some  of  the  brooks  went  dry.  Thus  it  happened 
that  the  hunter  had  gone  far  in  search  of  game. 

Many  months  passed.  When  Seegwun,  the  elder  boy, 
saw  that  but  little  meat  remained,  he  said  to  his  younger 
brother  Ioscoda: 

"Let  us  take  what  meat  is  left,  and  strike  out  through  the 
forest,  toward  the  North.  I  remember  our  father  saying  that 
many  moons  distant  lies  a  great  lake  called  Gitche  Gumee, 
whose  waters  are  alive  with  fish." 

"But  can  we  find  our  way?"  asked  Ioscoda,  doubtfully. 
"Never  fear!"  called  out  a  voice  from  overhead. 
It  was  Ad-ji-dau-mo,  the  squirrel,  frisky  as  ever,  though 
a  little  lean  for  lack  of  nuts. 

"I'll  go  along  with  you,"  he  continued,  "and  so  will 
Wa-bo-se,  the  white  hare.  He  can  hop  ahead  and  find  the 
trail,  and  I  can  jump  from  tree  to  tree,  and  keep  a  look-out. 
Between  us,  we  are  bound  to  go  right." 

It  proved  to  be  a  good  idea,  and  Wa-bo-se  took  the  lead. 
Where  the  trail  was  overgrown  with  grass,  he  would  nose  his 
way  along  the  ground,  without  once  going  wrong;  where  the 
track  was  plain,  he  would  run  ahead,  then  stop  and  sit  up  on  his 
haunches,  to  wait  for  the  boys,  his  long  ears  pricked  up  and 
moving,  to  detect  the  slightest  danger. 

But  nothing  happened  to  alarm  them.  The  lynx,  the  wild- 
cat and  the  wolf  had  all  fled  before  the  famine,  and  the  silent 
forest  was  empty  of  savage  beasts.  On  and  on  they  went, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  the  woods  would  never  end.  Then,  one 
day,  Ad-ji-dau-mo  climbed  a  tall  pine,  from  whose  topmost 
bough  he  could  see  far  over  the  forest.  The  sun  was  shining 
bright;  as  he  cocked  his  eye  and  looked  toward  the  north, 


onencaivj 

something  that  seemed  to  meet  the  sky  sparkled  like  silver. 
It  was  Gitche  Gumee,  the  Great  Lake. 

They  had  reached  a  place  where  nuts  were  plentiful,  and 
many  green  things  grew  that  would  fatten  the  white  hare. 
So  Wa-bo-se  and  the  squirrel  bade  good-bye  to  the  boys,  who 
could  now  make  their  way  with  ease.  Soon  they  came  to 
the  edge  of  the  woods.  They  heard  a  piping  cry.  It  was 
Twee-tweesh-ke-way,  the  plover,  flying  along  the  beach;  in 
another  moment  the  great  glittering  waters  lay  before  them. 

Seegwun  with  his  sharp  hunting  knife  cut  a  limb  from  an 
ash-tree,  and  made  a  bow;  from  an  oak  bough  he  whittled  some 
arrows,  which  he  tipped  with  flint.  He  found  feathers  fallen 
from  a  gull's  wing  for  the  shaft;  a  strip  cut  from  his  deer-skin 
shirt  supplied  the  bow-string.  Then  giving  the  bow  and  arrow 
to  Ioscoda,  to  practice  with,  he  gathered  some  seed  pods  from 
the  wild  rose,  to  stay  their  hunger. 

An  arrow,  badly  aimed  by  his  brother,  fell  into  the  lake, 
and  Seegwun  waded  in,  to  recover  it.  He  had  walked  into 
the  water  till  it  reached  his  waist,  and  put  out  his  hand  to 
grasp  the  arrow,  when  suddenly,  as  if  by  magic,  a  canoe  came 
skimming  along  like  a  bird.  In  the  canoe  was  an  ugly  old  man, 
who  reached  out,  seized  the  astonished  boy,  and  pulled  him 
on  board. 

"If  I  must  go  with  you,  take  my  brother,  too!"  begged 
Seegwun.     "If  he  is  left  here,  all  alone,  he  will  starve." 

But  Mish-o-sha,  the  Magician,  only  laughed.  Then  strik- 
ing the  side  of  the  canoe  with  his  hand,  and  uttering  the 
magic  words,  Chemaun  Poll,  it  shot  across  the  lake  like  a  thing 
alive,  so  that  the  beach  was  quickly  lost  to  sight.  Soon  it 
came  to  rest  on  a  sandy  shore,  and  Mish-o-sha,  leaping  out, 
beckoned  him  to  follow. 

They  had  landed  on  an  island.  Before  them,  in  a  grove 
of  cedars,  were  two  wigwams,  or  lodges;  from  the  smaller  one 
two  lovely  young  girls  came  out,  and  stood  looking  at  them. 


Hit  Ir^^TnencanlladianlfiaryjIaLe^  1SF  ^Jlf 

To  Seegwun,  who  had  never  before  seen  a  girl,  these  maidens 
looked  like  spirits  from  the  skies.  He  gazed  at  them  in  wonder, 
half  expecting  they  would  vanish.  For  their  part  they  looked 
at  him  without  smiling;  in  their  dark  eyes  were  only  sym- 
pathy and  sadness. 

"My  daughters!"  said  the  old  man  to  Seegwun,  with  a 
chuckle  that  displayed  his  long,  yellow  teeth.  Then  turning 
to  the  girls: 

"Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me  safely  back?"  he  asked, "and 
are  you  not  pleased  with  my  handsome  young  friend  here?" 

They  bent  their  heads  politely,  but  said  nothing. 

"It's  a  long  time  since  you  were  favored  with  such  a 
visitor,"  he  went  on,  in  a  loud  whisper  to  the  elder  girl.  "He 
would  make  you  a  fine  husband." 

The  maiden  murmured  something  under  her  breath,  and 
Mish-o-sha  gave  her  a  wicked  look. 

"We  shall  see,  we  shall  see!"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
laughing  like  a  magpie,  and  rubbing  his  long,  bony  hands 
together. 

Seegwun,  much  troubled  in  mind,  and  hardly  knowing 
what  to  make  of  it  all,  resolved  to  keep  his  eyes  open.  Luckily 
Mish-o-sha  was  sometimes  careless.  He  walked  on  ahead, 
and  entered  his  lodge,  leaving  the  others  together;  whereupon 
the  elder  girl,  approaching  Seegwun,  spoke  to  him  quickly: 

"We  are  not  his  daughters,"  she  said.  "He  brought  us 
here  as  he  brought  you.  He  hates  the  human  race.  Every 
moon  he  seizes  a  young  man,  and  pretends  he  has  borne  him 
here  as  a  husband  for  me.  But  soon  he  takes  him  off  in  his 
canoe,  and  the  young  man  never  comes  back.  We  feel  sure 
Mish-o-sha  has  made  away  with  them  all." 

"What  must  I  do?"  asked  Seegwun.  "I  care  less  for  my- 
self than  for  my  little  brother.  He  was  left  behind  on  a  wild 
beach,  and  may  die  of  hunger." 

"Ah!"  said  the  maiden.     "You  are  really  good  and  unself- 


}fc  UF Jtkmencanllnclianll airyllaLeg  1*F  OS 

ish;  so,  no  matter  what  comes  of  it,  we  must  aid  you.  Ko- 
ko-ko-ho,  the  great  owl,  keeps  watch  all  night  on  the  bare 
limb  of  that  big  cedar.  Wait  till  Mish-o-sha  falls  asleep, 
then  wrap  yourself  from  head  to  foot  in  his  blanket,  and  steal 
softly  to  the  door  of  our  lodge.  Whisper  myname,Nin-i-mo-sha, 
and  I  shall  come  out  and  tell  you  what  to  do." 

"Nin-i-mo-sha,"  murmured  the  youth.  "What  a  beautiful 
name!"     Then,  before  he  could  thank  her,  the  girls  were  gone. 

Mish-o-sha  now  appeared,  and  made  a  sign  to  Seegwun  to 
join  him.  The  old  man  seemed  to  be  in  a  good  humor,  and 
passed  the  time  telling  stories;  but  Seegwun  was  not  deceived 
by  this  pretense  of  friendship.  When  the  Magician  was  sound 
asleep,  he  rose,  wrapped  Mish-o-sha's  blanket  around  him, 
and  walked  carefully  to  the  door  of  the  little  lodge. 

"Nin-i-mo-sha!"  he  whispered,  and  his  heart  beat  fast; 
for  Nin-i-mo-sha  in  the  Indian  tongue  is  "My  Sweetheart." 

"Seegwun!"  she  answered;  and  his  name,  meaning"Spring," 
came  like  music  from  her  lips. 

She  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  came  out. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "is  food  that  will  last  your  brother  for 
several  days.  Get  into  Mish-o-sha's  canoe,  pronounce  the 
magic  charm,  and  it  will  take  you  where  you  wish.  You  can 
be  back  before  daybreak." 

"But  the  owl?"  asked  Seegwun.     "Will  he  not  cry  out?" 

"Walk  with  a  stoop,  the  way  Mish-o-sha  walks,"  she 
explained.  "Ko-ko-ko-ho,  when  he  sees  you,  will  cry  'Hoot, 
hoot!'  You  must  answer,  'Hoot,  hoot,  whoo!  Mish-o-sha. ' 
Then  he  will  let  you  pass." 

Seegwun  did  as  he  was  told,  and  was  soon  skimming  across 
the  lake.  Having  landed  on  the  beach,  he  began  to  bark  like 
a  squirrel;  and  at  this  friendly  signal  his  brother  ran  up  and 
flung  his  arms  around  him.  Seegwun  made  a  shelter  for  the 
boy,  and  told  him  he  would  come  again.  Then  he  returned 
in  the  canoe,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep  in  the  Magician's  lodge. 


onencan, 


ulian  IFairylELeg  *W  w 


Mish-o-sha,  who  trusted  in  his  owl,  suspected  nothing. 
How  should  he  know  what  lovers  can  do  when  they  put  their 
heads  together? 

"You  have  slept  well,  my  son,"  said  he.  "And  now  we 
have  a  pleasant  journey  before  us.  We  are  going  to  an  island 
where  thousands  of  gulls  lay  their  eggs  in  the  sand,  and  we 
shall  get  all  we  can  carry  away." 

Remembering  what  Nin-i-mo-sha  had  said,  Seegwun  shiv- 
ered. But  she  kissed  her  hand,  and  waved  him  a  good-bye; 
and  this  put  heart  in  him. 

As  the  canoe  sped  away,  he  made  sure  that  his  hunting  knife 
slipped  easily  in  its  sheath,  and  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off 
Mish-o-sha  for  a  moment. 

When  they  reached  the  island  the  gulls  rose  in  great 
numbers,  and  flew  screaming  above  their  heads. 

"You  gather  the  eggs,"  said  the  Magician,  "while  I  keep 
watch  in  the  canoe." 

Seegwun  hastened  ashore,  glad  to  quit  the  old  man's  com- 
pany.    Then  the  Magician  cried  out  to  the  gulls: 

"Ho,  my  feathered  friends!  Here  is  the  human  offering 
I  promised  you  when  you  agreed  to  call  me  master.  Fly 
down,  my  pretty  ones!     Fly  down,  and  devour  him!" 

Striking  the  side  of  his  canoe,  he  abandoned  the  youth  to 
the  mercy  of  the  birds. 

With  harsh  cries,  the  gulls  swept  down  on  Seegwun. 
Never  had  he  heard  such  a  clamor.  Ten  thousand  wings 
beat  the  air,  and  stirred  it  like  a  storm.  Whirling  and  darting 
they  came  upon  him  in  a  cloud.  But  Seegwun  did  not  flinch. 
Shouting  the  Saw-saw-quan,  or  war-cry,  he  seized  the  first 
bird  that  attacked  him.  Then  grasping  it  by  the  neck,  he 
held  it  high  above  his  head  in  his  left  hand,  and  with  his 
right  hand  drew  his  knife,  which  glittered  in  the  sun. 

"Hold!"  he  cried.  "Hold,  you  poor  fools!  Beware  the 
vengeance  of  the  Great  Spirit." 


oiiericaiii 

The  gulls  paused  in  their  attack,  but  still  circled  around 
him,  with  sharp  beaks  extended. 

"Hear  me,  O  Gulls!"  he  continued.  "The  Great  Spirit 
gave  you  life  that  you  might  serve  mankind.  Slay  me,  and 
you  slay  one  made  to  rule  over  all  the  beasts  and  birds.  I  tell 
you,  beware!" 

"But  Mish-o-sha  is  all  powerful."  screamed  the  gulls. 
"He  has  bidden  us  destroy  you." 

"Mish-o-sha  is  no  Manito,"  answered  Seegwun.  "He  is 
only  a  wicked  magician  who  would  use  you  for  his  own  evil 
ends.  Bear  me  on  your  wings  back  to  his  island;  for  it  is  he 
who  must  be  destroyed." 

Then  the  gulls,  persuaded  that  Mish-o-sha  had  tricked 
them,  drew  close  together,  that  the  youth  might  lie  upon  their 
backs.  Rising  on  the  wind,  they  carried  him  across  the 
waters,  setting  him  down  gently  by  the  lodge  before  the 
Magician  had  arrived  there. 

Nin-i-mo-sha  rejoiced  when  she  saw  it  was  really  Seegwun. 
"I  was  not  mistaken  in  you,"  she  told  him.  "It  is  plain  that 
the  Great  Spirit  protects  you.  But  Mish-o-sha  will  try  again, 
so  be  on  your  guard." 

The  Magician  now  arrived  in  his  magic  canoe.  When  he 
saw  Seegwun  he  tried  to  smile  pleasantly.  But  having  had 
little  practice  in  thinking  kind  thoughts,  he  only  grinned  like 
a  gargoyle,  which,  excepting  perhaps  the  hyena,  has  the  most 
painful  possible  smile. 

"Good,  my  son !"  he  managed  to  say.  "You  must  not 
misunderstand  me.  I  did  it  to  test  your  courage;  and  now 
Nin-i-mo-sha  is  sure  to  love  you.  Ah,  my  children,  you  will 
make  a  happy  pair!" 

Nin-i-mo-sha  turned  away  to  hide  her  disgust,  but  Seegwun 
pretended  to  believe  the  malicious  old  man  was  in  earnest. 

"However,"  continued  the  Magician,  "I  owe  you  something 
for  having  seemed  to  play  you  such  a  trick.     I  see  you  wear 


lit  mir  ^^^ineri<^m.JmiianlftarylCLe§  l8F  'A? 

no  ornaments.  Come  with  me,  then,  to  the  Island  of  Glitter- 
ing Shells,  and  soon  you  will  be  attired  as  becomes  a  handsome 
warrior." 

The  island  where  they  landed  was  indeed  a  wonderful  place, 
covered  with  colored  shells  that  gleamed  in  the  sun  like  jewels. 

"Look!"  said  Mish-o-sha,  as  they  walked  along  the  beach. 
"Out  there  a  little  way.     See  it  shining  on  the  bottom." 

Seegwun  waded  in.  When  the  water  reached  his  thighs, 
the  Magician  made  a  leap  for  the  canoe,  and  shoved  it  far  out 
into  the  lake. 

"Come,  King  of  Fishes!"  he  called.  "You  have  always 
served  me  well.     Here  is  your  reward." 

Then,  striking  his  canoe,  he  quickly  disappeared. 

Immediately  an  enormous  fish,  with  jaws  wide  open,  rose 
to  the  surface  a  few  feet  away.  But  Seegwun  only  smiled, 
saying  as  he  drew  his  long  blade: 

"Know,  Monster,  that  I  am  Seegwun — named  after  him 
whose  breath  warms  the  ice-bound  waters  and  clothes  the  hills 
with  green.  The  cowardly  Mish-o-sha,  fearing  the  anger  of 
the  Great  Spirit,  seeks  to  make  you  do  what  he  dares  not  do 
himself.  Spill  but  one  drop  of  my  blood,  and  it  will  dye  the 
waters  of  the  lake,  in  which  all  your  tribe  will  miserably  perish.' 

"Mish-o-sha  has  deceived  me,"  said  the  King  of  Fishes. 
"He  promised  me  a  tender  maiden,  and  has  brought  instead 
a  youth  with  the  eyes  of  a  warrior.  How  shall  I  aid  you, 
my  Master?" 

"Wretch!"  exclaimed  Seegwun.  "Rejoice  that  he  did  not 
keep  his  frightful  promise.  You  deserve  to  die  at  my  hands, 
but  I  give  you  a  chance  to  repent.  Take  me  on  your  back  to 
the  island  of  Mish-o-sha,  and  I  will  spare  your  life." 

The  King  of  Fishes  hastened  to  take  Seegwun  astride  his 
broad  back,  and  swam  so  swiftly  that  he  reached  the  island 
soon  after  Mish-o-sha.  The  Magician  was  explaining  to  Nin- 
i-mo-sha  how  the  youth  had  fallen  from  the  canoe  into  the 


minen(^m.Jmdian&iryllaLeg  ^r  <H> 

jaws  of  a  big  fish,  when  along  came  Seegwun  himself,  strolling 
up  from  the  Lake  as  if  he  had  returned  from  an  everyday 
excursion.     Even  so,  Mish-o-sha  still  sought  to  excuse  himself. 

"My  daughter,"  said  he.  "I  was  only  trying  to  find  out 
how  much  you  cared  for  him." 

But  all  the  while  he  was  saying  to  himself  that  the  next 
time  he  would  not  fail.  And  the  next  time  was  the  very  next 
day. 

"My  owl  is  growing  old,  and  cannot  live  much  longer," 
he  explained.  "I  should  like  to  catch  a  young  eagle,  and 
tame  him.     Will  you  help  me?" 

Seegwun  consented,  and  went  with  him  in  the  magic  canoe 
to  a  rocky  point  of  land  reaching  out  into  the  lake.  There,  in 
the  fork  of  a  tall  pine,  was  an  eagle's  nest,  in  which  were  some 
young  eagles,  who  could  not  yet  fly. 

"Quick!"  said  Mish-o-sha.  "Climb  the  tree  before  the 
old  birds  return." 

Seegwun  had  almost  reached  the  nest  when  the  Magician 
spoke  to  the  pine,  commanding  it  to  grow  taller.  At  once  it 
began  to  rise,  until  it  was  so  high,  and  swayed  so  in  the  wind, 
that  he  felt  it  would  take  all  his  courage  to  get  down  again. 
At  the  same  time  the  Magician  uttered  a  peculiar  cry,  at  which 
the  father  and  mother  eagles  came  swooping  from  the  clouds 
to  protect  their  young. 

"Ho,  ho!"  laughed  Mish-o-sha.  "This  time  I  have  made 
no  mistake.  Either  you  will  fall  and  break  your  neck,  or  the 
eagles  will  scratch  your  eyes  out." 

Striking  his  canoe,  he  vanished  in  the  mist. 

The  eagles  now  circled  around  Seegwun,  who,  resting  on  a 
branch,  thus  addressed  them: 

"My  brothers,  behold  the  eagle's  feather  in  my  hair!  It 
proves  my  admiration  for  your  bravery  and  skill.  Yet  in  me 
you  see  your  master;  for  I  am  a  man,  and  you  are  only  birds. 
Obey  me,  then,  and  bear  me  to  Mish-o-sha's  island." 


See^wun  had  almost 
reached  the  nest~ 


3&W* M       '      ILj*    IE.'  Tfi  /W/R 

=fiv  W  =^jmencanimdianlffairyJiaUg  W  A> 

This  praise  pleased  the  eagles,  who  respected  the  youth's 
cool  courage.  Mounting  on  the  back  of  the  enormous  male 
bird,  Seegwun  was  borne  through  the  air,  and  set  down  safely 
on  the  enchanted  island. 

Mish-o-sha  now  saw  that  neither  bird  nor  beast  would 
harm  this  handsome  youth,  who  seemed  to  be  protected  by 
some  powerful  Manito.     It  must  be  done  some  other  way. 

"One  more  test,"  he  said  to  Seegwun,  "and  then  you  may 
take  Nin-i-mo-sha  for  your  wife.  But  first  you  must  prove 
your  skill  as  a  hunter.     Come!" 

They  made  a  lodge  in  the  forest;  and  Mish-o-sha,  by  his 
magic,  caused  a  snow-storm,  with  a  stinging  gale  from  the 
north,  like  a  flight  of  icy  arrows.  Seegwun,  that  night,  before 
going  to  sleep,  had  hung  his  moccasins  and  leggings  by  the 
fire  to  dry;  and  Mish-o-sha,  rising  first,  at  daybreak,  took  one 
of  each  and  threw  them  into  the  flames.  Then  he  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  laughed  like  a  prairie  wolf. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Seegwun,  sitting  up. 

"Alas,  my  son!"  said  Mish-o-sha.  "I  was  just  too  late. 
This  is  the  season  of  the  moon  when  fire  attracts  all  things. 
It  has  drawn  to  it  one  of  your  moccasins  and  leggings,  and 
destroyed  them.     Yeo,  yeol     I  should  have  warned  you." 

Seegwun  held  his  tongue,  though  the  thing  was  plain 
enough.  Mish-o-sha  meant  that  he  should  freeze  to  death. 
But  Seegwun,  praying  silently  to  his  Manito  for  aid,  took  from 
the  fireplace  a  charred  stick  with  which  he  blackened  one  leg 
and  foot,  murmuring  at  the  same  time  a  charm.  Then  put- 
ting on  his  remaining  moccasin  and  legging,  he  was  ready 
for  the  hunt. 

Their  way  led  through  snow  and  ice,  into  thickets  of  thorn, 
and  over  bogs  half-frozen,  where  Seegwun  sank  to  the  knees. 
But  his  prayer  had  been  heard;  the  charm  worked,  and  the 
youth  walked  on,  dry  shod.  With  his  first  arrow  he  slew  a 
bear. 


3fr  ^If =AinericaiilmclianllairylClieg  <W  ^fS 

"Now,"  he  said,  looking  the  Magician  full  in  the  eye. 
"I  see  you  are  suffering  from  the  cold.  Let  us  go  back  to  your 
island." 

At  Seegwun's  bold  look,  Mish-o-sha  bent  his  head,  and 
mumbled  some  foolish  answer.  At  last  he  had  met  his  match: 
and  he  knew  it. 

"Take  up  the  bear  on  your  shoulders!"  commanded 
Seegwun. 

Again  the  Magician  obeyed.  For  the  first  time  they  re- 
turned together  to  the  island,  where  the  two  young  girls 
looked  on  in  amazement  to  see  the  proud  Mish-o-sha  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  the  bear,  grunting  with  helpless  rage. 

"His  power  is  broken,"  agreed  Nin-i-mo-sha,  when  Seegwun 
had  told  her  all.  "But  we  shall  never  sleep  in  safety  until 
we  are  really  rid  of  him.     What  is  best  to  do?" 

They  put  their  heads  together;  and  when  they  had  talked 
it  over,  Nin-i-mo-sha  laughed  merrily. 

"He  deserves  a  greater  punishment,"  she  said.  "The 
world  will  not  be  safe  as  long  as  he  has  life.  Yet  what  we  plan 
to  do  will  revenge  us,  without  shedding  a  single  drop  of  blood." 

The  next  day  Seegwun  said  to  the  Magician: 

"It  is  time  that  we  rescued  my  brother,  whom  we  left  all 
alone  on  the  beach.     Come  with  me." 

Mish-o-sha  made  a  wry  face,  but  prepared  to  go.  Landing 
on  the  beach,  they  soon  spied  the  boy,  who  joyfully  clambered 
into  the  canoe.     Then  Seegwun  said  to  the  old  man: 

"Those  red  willows  over  on  the  bank  would  make  good 
smoking  mixture.  Could  you  manage  to  climb  up  there  and 
cut  me  some?" 

"To  be  sure,  my  son,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Mish-o-sha, 
walking  rapidly  toward  the  willows.  "I  am  not  so  weak  and 
good-for-nothing  as  you  seem  to  think." 

Seegwun  struck  the  canoe  with  his  hand,  pronouncing  the 
magic    words,  Chemaun  Poll;  and  away  it  went  with  the  two 


M  '       IF   i*     1W  •    3TPt     ^*E^%F 

mmencanllndianlfairyliaLeS  W  "Af 

brothers  aboard,  leaving  the  Magician  high  and  dry,  and 
gnashing  his  yellow  teeth. 

The  girls  ran  to  meet  them  at  the  shore,  Nin-i-mo-sha 
rejoicing  that  the  old  man  had  been  left  behind,  while  her 
sister  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  attractive  boy  who  looked 
so  much  like  his  big  brother. 

"But  Mish-o-sha  can  call  the  canoe  back  to  him,"  said 
Nin-i-mo-sha,  "until  a  way  is  found  to  break  the  charm.  Some 
one  must  keep  watch,  with  his  hand  upon  it." 

Ioscoda  begged  permission  to  do  his  part;  so  they  left  him, 
with  night  coming  on,  sitting  on  the  sand  and  holding  fast 
to  the  canoe. 

It  was  a  tiresome  task  for  a  little  boy  already  weary  with 
long  waiting.  To  amuse  himself  he  began  to  count  the  stars. 
First  he  counted  those  in  the  Big  Dipper  and  the  Little  Dipper, 
then  the  ones  that  look  like  a  high-back  chair,  and  the  three 
big  bright  ones  in  the  belt  of  Orion  the  Hunter.  He  did  not 
know  them  by  these  names,  which  were  given  them  long 
afterward;  but  he  recognized  the  cluster  called  O-jeeg  An-nung, 
the  Fisher,  who  brought  Summer  from  the  sky  because  his 
boy  was  cold. 

Ioscoda  also  was  cold,  sitting  there  in  the  wet  sand.  But 
Indian  boys  do  not  complain.  Yet  seeing  the  Fisher  stars, 
he  thought  of  his  own  dear  father,  and  wondered  where  he 
might  be.  Had  Ioscoda  been  a  white  boy,  instead  of  a  red, 
we  think  the  sand  he  sat  on  might  have  been  a  little  wetter 
for  his  tears.  As  it  was,  he  found  himself  looking  at  the  sky 
through  a  kind  of  fog.  What  was  it?  He  rubbed  his  eyes, 
lost  his  count,  and  began  all  over  again. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Indians  could  reckon  only  with 
their  fingers — unless  you  include  their  toes;  and  Ioscoda's 
toes  were  tucked  away  snugly  in  his  moccasins,  quite  out  of 
sight  and  question.  How  many  fingers  had  he  counted — 
and  how — many — stars — ? 


}ft  Hr  ^:^^inen<^nllnclianlFaii^rlELeg  ISF  <Ju= 

The  fog,  or  whatever  it  was,  filled  his  eyes.  Lap,  lap! 
went  the  little  waves,  rocking  the  canoe  like  a  cradle.  Soo, 
soo!  sighed  the  wind  in  the  cedars.  All  else  earthly  nodded 
and  was  still;  even  the  stars  blinked  and  winked,  as  if  weary 
of  watching  the  world. 

And  Ioscoda  slept. 

Whoo,  whoo!  The  cry  of  Ko-ko-ko-ho,  the  owl,  shrilled 
evilly  on  the  ears.  It  was  only  for  a  moment.  The  shadows 
lifted,  a  squirrel  barked.  Wa-bun,  the  East  Wind,  rising 
above  the  rim  of  the  waters,  let  loose  his  silver  arrows.  It 
was  day. 

Ioscoda  sat  up,  only  half  aroused,  and  looked  out  over  the 
lake.  Was  he  still  on  the  wild  beach,  waiting  for  his  brother? 
Then  he  remembered,  and  gave  a  guilty  start.  The  canoe  was 
gone! 

Gone,  but  come  again  !  There  it  appeared,  gliding  straight 
toward  him;  and  in  it  sat  Mish-o-sha. 

"Good-morning,  child!"  called  the  Magician,  as  the  canoe 
grated  on  the  sand.  "Are  you  not  glad  to  see  your  grand- 
father again?" 

Ioscoda  clenched  his  small  fists.  He  was  very  brave,  and 
he  was  angry. 

"You  are  not  my  grandfather,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  not 
glad  to  see  you  again." 

"Esa,  esa!  (Shame,  shame!)"  chuckled  the  old  man. 
"But  Seegwun  will  be  glad  to  see  me,  and  so  will  my  dear 
daughters.     I  hope  they  have  not  been  worried  about  me." 

He  was  much  pleased  with  his  cleverness  in  outwitting  them 
all,  and  was  now  as  impudent  as  before.  But  Seegwun  bided 
his  time.     He  thought  of  another  plan. 

"Grandfather,"  said  he,  "it  seems  that  we  must  continue 
to  live  here  together.  Let  us  therefore  lay  in  a  supply  of 
meat  for  the  winter.  Come  with  me  to  the  mainland.  I  am 
sure  you  must  be  a  mighty  hunter." 


¥fc  ^JF^^mTnenc^m.lmclianlFair3?iELeg  mF  "af 

Mish-o-sha's  vanity  was  his  weakest  point. 

"Eh,  yah!"  he  answered,  boastfully.  "I  can  run  all  day 
with  a  dead  deer  on  my  back.     I  have  done  it." 

"Good!"  said  Seegwun.  "The  wind  is  going  north  again, 
and  we  shall  need  all  our  strength  on  the  march." 

Now  Seegwun  had  somehow  learned  the  Magician's  dear- 
est secret,  which  was  this:  Mish-o-sha's  left  leg  and  foot  were 
the  only  parts  of  his  body  that  could  be  harmed.  No  arrow 
could  pierce  his  heart;  a  war-club  brought  down  upon  his  head 
would  be  shivered  into  splinters.  As  well  strike  him  with  a 
straw.  But  his  left  leg  and  foot.  Ah!  It  was  not  for 
rheumatism  that  his  legging  was  so  well  laced.  And  why 
did  he  always  sit  down  with  his  left  foot  tucked  up  under  him  ? 
Ha!     Why,  indeed?     Seegwun  had  found  the  answer. 

They  made  a  rude  lodge  in  the  forest,  just  as  they  had  done 
before.  And  again  it  came  bitter  cold;  only  this  time  it  was 
Seegwun  that  brought  the  storm.  He  could  not  help  laughing. 
There  was  the  blazing  fire,  and  there  on  the  couch  was 
Mish-o-sha,  sound  asleep. 

Seegwun  softly  rose,  took  both  the  Magician's  moccasins 
and  leggings,  and  threw  them  into  the  flames. 

"Get  up,  grandfather,"  he  called.  "It's  the  season  when 
fire  attracts  all  things,  and  I  fear  you  have  lost  something 
you  may  need." 

When  Mish-o-sha  saw  what  had  happened  he  looked  so 
frightened  that  Seegwun  was  almost  sorry  for  him.  But 
remembering  Nin-i-mo-sha  and  his  little  brother,  he  could 
think  of  no  other  way.     "We  must   be  going,"  he  said. 

They  set  out  through  the  snow.  My,  how  cold  it  was! 
Mish-o-sha  began  to  run,  thinking  this  would  help;  while 
Seegwun  followed,  fearing  that  if  he  led,  the  Magician  might 
send  an  arrow  through  his  back.  After  running  for  an  hour, 
the  Magician  was  quite  out  of  breath,  and  his  legs  and  feet 
were  growing  numb  and  stiff. 


^mencanj 


l£ 


an  Iff  airy  j 


ilegTSIr  vlf 


They  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  reached  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  Here  Mish-o-sha  stopped.  When  he  tried 
to  take  another  step,  he  could  not  lift  his  feet.  How  heavy 
they  had  grown!  He  tried  again;  but  something  strange  had 
happened.  His  toes  sank  into  the  sand,  and  took  the  form  of 
roots.  The  feathers  in  his  hair,  and  then  the  hair  itself, 
changed  gradually  into  leaves.  His  outstretched  arms  were 
branches,  swaying  in  the  wind;  bark  appeared  on  his  body. 

Seegwun  looked  and  wondered.  That  which  had  been 
Mish-o-sha  was  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  tree,  a  sycamore  hung 
with  button-balls,  leaning  crookedly  toward  the  lake. 

At  last  the  wicked  old  Magician  had  met  his  master.  No 
more  would  his  evil  spell  be  cast  on  the  young  and  innocent 
Seegwun  lingered  a  moment,  to  make  sure  that  Mish-o-sha 
would  not  come  to  life.  Then  he  took  his  way  across  the 
water,  where  the  others,  anxiously  awaiting  him,  were  told 
the  good  news. 

"Mish-o-sha  is  no  more,"  said  Seegwun.  "He  can  never 
harm  us  again.  Let  us  leave  this  place  where  we  have  suffered 
so  much,  and  make  our  home  on  the  mainland." 

So  together  they  went  forth,  his  sweetheart,  her  sister,  and 
the  boy,  with  Seegwun  showing  the  way.  The  trail  he  took 
led  them  again  to  the  great  forest,  and  once  more  to  the 
lodge  from  which  he  had  set  out.  And  there  they  lived  happily 
for  the  rest  of  their  days. 


^r  ^r  ^TKe  Fair^llride  -r  w 

^L  ^  ^L  ^ 

il  A  4 


jNCE  there  was  a  lovely  young  girl  named  Neen-i-zu, 
the  only  daughter  of  an  Indian  chief,  who  lived 
on  the  shore  of  Lake  Superior;  Neen-i-zu,  in  the 
Indian  language,  means  "My  Dear  Life."  It 
was  plain  that  her  parents  loved  her  tenderly,  and  did  every- 
thing in  their  power  to  make  her  happy  and  to  shield  her  from 
any  possible  harm. 

There  was  but  one  thing  that  made  them  uneasy.  Neen-i-zu 
was  a  favorite  with  the  other  young  girls  of  the  village, 
and  joined  them  in  their  play.  But  she  liked  best  of  all  to 
walk  by  herself  in  the  forest,  or  to  follow  some  dim  trail  that 
led  to  the  heart  of  the  little  hills.  Sometimes  she  would  be 
absent  for  many  hours;  and  when  she  returned,  her  eyes  had 
the  look  of  one  who  has  dwelt  in  secret  places,  and  seen  things 
strange  and  mysterious.  Nowadays,  some  persons  would  have 
called  Neen-i-zu  "romantic."  Others,  who  can  never  see  a 
thing  that  is  not  just  beneath  their  noses,  would  have  laughed  a 
little,  in  a  superior  sort  of  way,  and  said  she  was  a  "dreamer." 

What  was  it  that  Neen-i-zu  saw  and  heard,  during  these 
lonely  walks  in  the  secret  places  of  the  hills?  Was  it  perhaps 
the  fairies?  She  did  not  say.  But  her  mother,  who  wished 
her  to  be  more  like  other  girls,  and  who  would  have  liked  to 
see  her  marry  and  settle  down,  was  much  disturbed  in  mind. 

The  mischievous  little  fairies  known  as  Puk-Wudjies  were 
believed  tc  inhabit  the  sand  dunes  where  Neen-i-zu  so  often 
went  to  walk.  These  were  the  sand-hills  made  by  Grass- 
hopper, when  he  danced  so  madly  at  Man-a-bo-zho's  wedding, 


\dian  IE airyllaleg  <wF 


kmencanlincuan  iff airyj 

whirling  the  sand  into  great  drifts  and  mounds  that  may  be 
seen  to  this  very  day.  The  Puk-Wudjies  loved  these  hills, 
which  were  seldom  visited  by  the  Indians.  It  was  just  the 
place  for  leap-frog  and  all-hands-'round;  in  the  twilight  of 
summer  days  they  were  said  to  gather  here  in  little  bands, 
playing  all  manner  of  pranks.  Then,  as  night  came,  they 
would  make  haste  to  hide  themselves  in  a  grove  of  pine-trees 
known  as  the  Mantto  IVac,  or  the  Wood  of  the  Spirits. 

No  one  had  ever  come  close  to  them;  but  fishermen,  pad- 
dling their  canoes  on  the  lake,  had  caught  glimpses  of  them  from 
afar,  and  had  heard  the  tiny  voices  of  these  merry  little  men, 
as  they  laughed  and  called  to  one  another.  When  the  fisher- 
men tried  to  follow,  the  Puk-Wudjies  would  vanish  in  the 
woods;  but  their  foot-prints,  no  larger  than  a  child's,  could  be 
seen  on  the  damp  sand  of  a  little  lake  in  the  hills. 

If  anything  more  were  needed  to  convince  those  doubters 
who  did  not  believe  in  fairies,  the  proof  was  quickly  supplied 
by  fishermen  and  hunters  who  were  victims  of  their  tricks. 
The  Puk-Wudjies  never  really  harmed  anyone,  but  they  were 
up  to  many  kinds  of  mischief.  Sometimes  a  hunter,  picking 
up  his  cap  in  the  morning,  would  find  the  feathers  plucked 
out;  sometimes  a  fisherman,  missing  his  paddle,  would  dis- 
cover it  at  last  in  a  tree.  When  such  things  happened  it  was 
perfectly  plain  that  Puk-Wudjies  had  been  up  to  their  pranks, 
and  few  persons  were  still  stupid  enough  to  believe  it  could 
be  anything  else. 

Neen-i-zu  had  her  own  ideas  concerning  these  little  men; 
for  she,  like  Morning  Glory,  had  often  listened  to  the  tales 
that  old  Iagoo  told.  One  of  these  stories  was  the  story  of  a 
Happy  Land,  a  far-off  place  where  it  was  always  Summer; 
where  no  one  wept  or  suffered  sorrow. 

It  was  for  this  land  that  she  sighed.  It  filled  her  thoughts 
by  day,  when  she  sought  the  secret  places  of  the  hills,  and  sat 
in  some  lonely  spot,  listening  to  the  mysterious  voices  that 


W 18F  ^minericaiilinciianlB airyil^g  liF  '%> 

whispered  in  the  breeze.     Where  was  this  Happy  Land — this 
place  without  pain  or  care? 

Tired  out  at  night,  she  would  sink  into  her  bed.  Then 
from  their  hiding  places  would  come  stealing  the  small  mes- 
sengers of  Weenz,  the  Spirit  of  Sleep.  These  kindly  gnomes — 
too  small  for  the  human  eye  to  see — crept  quickly  up  the  face 
of  the  weary  Neen-i-zu  and  tapped  gently  on  her  forehead 
with  their  tiny  war-clubs,  called  pub-ga-mau-guns .  Tap — 
tap — tap! — till  her  eyelids  closed,  and  she  sought  the  Happy 
Land  in  that  other  pleasant  land  of  dreams. 

She,  too,  had  seen  the  foot-prints  of  the  Puk-Wudjies  on 
the  sandy  beach  of  the  little  lake,  and  had  heard  their  merry 
laughter  ring  out  in  the  grove  of  pines.  Was  it  their  only 
dwelling  place,  she  asked  herself,  or  were  they  not  messengers 
from  the  Happy  Land,  sent  to  show  the  way  to  that  mortal 
who  believed  in  it,  and  longed  to  enter. 

Neen-i-zu  came  to  think  that  this  must  be  really  so. 
Oftener  than  ever,  she  made  her  way  to  the  meadow  bordering 
on  the  Spirit  Wood,  and  sat  there  gazing  into  the  grove. 
Perhaps  the  Puk-Wudjies  would  understand,  and  tell  the 
fairies  whom  they  served.  Then  some  day  a  fairy  would 
appear  at  the  edge  of  the  pines,  and  beckon  her  to  come. 
That  would  surely  happen,  she  thought,  if  she  wished  it  long 
enough,  and  could  give  her  wishes  wings.  So,  sitting  there, 
she  composed  the  words  of  a  song,  and  set  it  to  the  music  the 
pines  make  when  the  south  wind  stirs  their  branches.  Then 
she  sang: 

Spirit  of  the  laughing  leaves, 

Fairy  of  the  forest  pine, 
Listen  to  the  maid  who  grieves 

For  that  happy  land  of  thine. 
From  your  haunt  in  summer  glade 
Hasten  to  your  mournful  maid. 

Was  it  only  her  fancy,  that  she  seemed  to  hear  the  closing 


/ 


Mischievous  little  Fairies 
known,  as  Puk-Wudjies* 


anencaiiimdianlfairyJialjeg  ^r  ^af 

words  of  her  song  echoed  from  the  deep  woods  where  the  merry 
little  men  had  vanished  ?  Or  was  it  the  Puk-Wudjies  mocking 
her? 

She  had  lingered  later  than  usual;  it  was  time  to  go.  The 
new  moon  swung  low  in  the  western  sky,  with  its  points  turned 
upwards  to  the  heavens.  An  Indian  would  say  he  could 
hang  his  powder  horn  upon  it,  and  that  it  meant  dry  weather, 
when  the  leaves  crackled  under  the  hunter's  feet,  and  the 
animals  fled  before  him,  so  that  he  was  unable  to  come  near- 
enough  to  shoot.  And  Neen-i-zu  was  glad  of  this.  In  the 
Happy  Land,  she  declared  no  one  would  suffer,  and  no  life 
would  be  taken. 

Yet  it  was  a  hunter  that  her  mother  wished  her  to  marry, 
a  man  who  spent  his  whole  life  in  slaying  the  red  deer  of  the 
forest;  who  thought  and  talked  of  almost  nothing  else. 

This  came  into  her  mind  as  she  rose  from  her  seat  in  the 
meadow,  and  cast  a  farewell  glance  at  the  pines.  The  rays  of 
the  crescent  moon  touched  them  with  a  faint  light;  and  again 
her  fancy  came  into  play.  What  was  it  that  seemed  to  move 
along  the  edge  of  the  mysterious  woods?  Something  with 
the  dim  likeness  of  a  youth — taller  than  the  Puk-Wudjies — 
who  glided  rather  than  walked,  and  whose  garments  of  light 
green  stood  out  against  the  darker  green  of  the  pines.  Neen- 
i-zu  looked  again;  but  the  moon  hid  behind  the  hills.  All  was 
black  to  the  eye;  to  the  ear  came  no  sound  but  the  creepy  cry 
of  the  whip-poor-will.     She  hastened  home. 

That  night  she  heard  from  her  mother's  lips  what  she  had 
long  expected  and  feared.  "Neen-i-zu,"  said  her  mother. 
"I  named  you  'My  dear  Life,'  and  you  are  as  dear  as  life  to  me. 
That  is  why  I  wish  you  to  be  safe  and  happy.  That  is  why 
I  wish  you  to  marry  a  good  man  who  will  take  the  best  care  of 
you  now,  and  will  protect  and  comfort  you  when  I  am  gone. 
You  know  the  man  I  mean." 

"Yes,  mother,"  answered  Neen-i-zu.     "I  know  him  well 


ifr  UF J^mencanllncli 


anlrairyj 

enough — as  well  as  ever  I  want  to  know  him.  He  hunts  the 
deer,  he  kills  the  deer,  he  skins  the  deer.  That  is  all  he  does, 
that  is  all  he  thinks,  that  is  all  he  talks  about.  It  is  perhaps 
well  that  someone  should  do  this,  lest  we  starve  for  want  of 
meat.  Yet  there  are  many  other  things  in  the  world,  and  this 
hunter  of  yours  is  content  if  he  does  but  kill." 

"Poor  child!"  said  her  mother.  "You  are  too  young  to 
know  what  is  best  for  you." 

"I  am  old  enough,  mother  dear,"  answered  Neen-i-zu,  "to 
know  what  my  heart  tells  me.  Besides,  this  hunter  you  would 
have  me  marry  is  as  tall  as  a  young  oak,  while  I  am  not  much 
taller  than  one  of  the  Puk-Wudjies.  When  I  stand  up  very 
straight,  my  head  comes  little  higher  than  his  waist.  A  pretty 
pair  we  would  make!" 

What  she  said  was  quite  true.  Neen-i-zu  had  never  grown 
to  be  much  larger  than  a  child.  She  had  a  graceful,  slender 
body,  little  hands  and  feet,  eyes  black  as  midnight,  and  a  mouth 
like  a  meadow  flower.  One  who  saw  her  for  the  first  time, 
passing  upon  the  hills,  her  slight  figure  sketched  against  the 
sky,  might  have  thought  that  she  herself  was  a  fairy. 

For  all  her  gentle,  quiet  ways,  and  her  love  of  lonely  places, 
Neen-i-zu  was  often  merry.  But  now  she  seldom  laughed; 
her  step  was  slow;  and  she  walked  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  "When  she  is  married,"  thought  her  mother,  "she 
will  have  other  things  to  occupy  her  mind,  and  she  will  no 
longer  go  dreaming  among  the  hills." 

But  the  hills  were  her  one  great  joy — the  hills,  and  the 
flowery  meadows  where  the  lark  swayed  to  and  fro,  bidding 
her  be  of  good  cheer,  as  he  perched  on  a  mullein  stalk.  Every 
afternoon  she  sat,  singing  her  little  song.  Soon  she  would 
sing  no  more.  The  setting  sun  would  gild  the  pine  grove, 
the  whip-poor-will  would  complain  to  the  stars;  but  the  pic- 
ture would  be  incomplete;  there  would  be  no  Neen-i-zu.  For 
the  wedding  day  was  named;  she  must  be  the  hunter's  wife. 


kinericanJmdianlEaryll^glliF'Olf 

On  this  day  set  for  her  marriage  to  the  man  she  so  disliked, 
Neen-i-zu  put  on  the  garments  of  a  bride.  Never  had  she 
looked  so  lovely.  Blood-red  blossoms  flamed  in  her  jet-black 
hair;  in  her  hand  she  held  a  bunch  of  meadow  flowers  mingled 
with  the  tassels  of  the  pine. 

Thus  arrayed,  she  set  out  for  a  farewell  visit  to  the  grove. 
It  was  a  thing  they  could  not  well  deny  her;  but  as  she  went 
her  way,  and  the  hills  hid  her  from  sight,  the  wedding  guests 
looked  uneasily  at  one  another.  It  was  something  they  could 
not  explain.  At  that  moment  a  cloud  blew  up  from  no- 
where, across  the  sun;  where  light  had  been  there  was  now  a 
shadow.  Was  it  a  sign?  They  glanced  sidelong  at  the 
hunter,  but  the  bridegroom  was  sharpening  his  sheath  knife  on 
a  stone.  Sunshine  or  shadow,  his  thoughts  were  following 
the  deer. 

Time  passed;  but  Neen-i-zu  did  not  return.  Then  so  late 
was  the  hour,  that  the  wedding  guests  wondered  and  bestirred 
themselves.  What  could  be  keeping  her  so  long?  At  last 
they  searched  the  hills;  she  was  not  there.  They  tracked 
her  to  the  meadow,  where  the  prints  of  her  little  moccasins 
led  on  and  on — into  the  grove  itself;  then  the  tracks  dis- 
appeared.    Neen-i-zu  had  vanished. 

They  never  saw  her  more.  The  next  day  a  hunter  brought 
them  strange  news.  He  had  climbed  a  hill,  on  his  way  home 
by  a  short  cut,  and  had  paused  there  a  moment  to  look  around. 
Just  then  his  dog  ran  up  to  him,  whining,  with  its  tail  between 
its  legs.  It  was  a  brave  dog,  he  said,  that  would  not  run  from 
a  bear,  but  this  one  acted  as  if  he  had  seen  something  that 
was  not  mortal. 

Then  the  hunter  heard  a  voice,  singing.  Soon  the  singing 
stopped,  and  he  made  out — far  off — the  figure  of  Neen-i-zu, 
walking  straight  toward  the  grove,  with  her  arms  held  out 
before  her.  He  called  to  her,  but  she  did  not  hear,  and  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Spirit  wood. 


ifr  TllF  =^&TnencanlinclianlF airylEle^  <W  "AV 

"She  walked  like  one  who  dreams,"  said  the  hunter,  "and 
when  she  had  almost  reached  the  woods,  a  young  man,  slender 
as  a  reed,  came  out  to  meet  her.  He  was  not  one  of  our  tribe. 
No,  no!  I  have  never  seen  his  like.  He  was  dressed  in  the 
leaves  of  the  forest,  and  green  plumes  nodded  on  his  head. 
He  took  her  by  the  hand.  They  entered  the  Sacred  Grove. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  a  fairy — the  fairy  Evergreen. 
There  is  nothing  more;  I  have  finished." 

So  Neen-i-zu  became  a  bride,  after  all. 


JOHN   RAE 


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